96 Hours
by Ludi
Summary: Mini smut!sequel to 52 Pickup. Anna's just let Remy run a maze to get him back into her life, and now they have a few days to kill before they head back to London. However are they gonna fill the time? You know how! Luckily Remy isn't going to take her to task for messing with him, unless messing with her back in the sexiest way possible counts. Rated M.
1. Almost, Definitely, Maybe

**Disclaimer:** These characters belong to Marvel, and I have nothing to do with Marvel.

 **Rating:** Rated M for sex.

 **Author notes:** This ficlet takes place at the tailend of _52 Pickup_ , literally right after the last word of the last sentence of that fic. It's been playing on my mind for several months now, but I never really knew how to work it, until I started writing a birthday fic for the lovely **Jehilew** (go see her work), and it all started coming together. The fic I wrote for her in chapter 2 of this story, btw. Thanks, Jessi! ;) x

Since I got quite a few requests to write some smut from various readers, here it is! I figured the 'vacation' these two took before taking that plane to London was as good a reason as any for them to bone each other endlessly. I'm just making it canon that they did. ;)

BTW... There IS a proper sequel to _52 Pickup_ in the making, but it is being a bitch, so may take a while to come through. Thanks to the betas who've been working on it. You know who you are. Couldn't have got this far without you! XXX

-Ludi x

* * *

 **\- 96 Hours -**

 **Almost, Definitely, Maybe**

 _She's awakened from a dreamless sleep by her phone pinging at five in the morning._

 _It can't have been 3 hours since she fell asleep, but she recognises the tone of those pings – it's the one she's assigned to Kitty, and so she forces herself into wakefulness and reaches out from under the covers for the nightstand._

 _Her hand closes over the phone and she opens up the notification. She doesn't know why her heart is beating so fast – the past couple of months all she's had are false leads and frustration after all. She should probably just go back to sleep, but… …_

 _She rubs at her bleary eyes and opens the first image Kitty has sent her._

 _And her heart stops._

 _It's_ him _._

 _Remy LeBeau, standing on the steps outside a fancy Georgian building in a dark grey suit, his hand half-raised to press a cigarette to his lips._

 _She sits up, a shallow breath caught in her throat._

 _It's a spontaneous shot, a moment of unguarded openness she's rarely seen in him before. He's staring at something off-screen, an absent look that nevertheless hides an intensity that she remembers only too well, that takes her breath away._

 _He hasn't changed._

 _It's the first time she's seen him in nearly 14 months, and her heart gives a sudden pang of unabashed longing. She doesn't even bother replying to Kitty; she simply hits the vid-call button and only a few seconds pass before Kitty picks up._

 _"Anna," she says. "Hey. I didn't think you'd be awake."_

 _She doesn't have the inclination for pleasantries._

 _"It's him, Kitty," she says instead, breathless. "It's him."_

 _Katherine's eyes go wide. Two months of searching in, and she's finally hit the jackpot._

 _"Are you sure…?" she asks, and the question is almost ridiculous to her – could she ever forget that face?_

 _"Yes. It's him. I'm positive." Her heart is racing a mile a minute, so fast she feels giddy with it. Kitty rubs the back of her neck and lets out a pent-up breath._

 _"Okay. Wow. I was beginning to think your hunch he was in London was all wrong." She can almost sense the small smile lighting Kitty's lip. "You sure weren't lying when you said he was drop dead gorgeous…"_

 _She's hardly listening. She's opened up the images on her tablet and is flipping through them one by one. It's him. It's_ him _._

Finally.

 _"Kitty…"_

 _"Yeah, I know. You want me to arrange a meet."_

 _She nods. She can't speak. Her heart's in her mouth._

 _"Okay." Kitty takes in a breath. "Give me a few days. I'll see how I can make this work."_

-oOo-

Anna stepped out of the Worthington Hotel's rotating doors and onto a practically empty sidewalk, on a balmy late Monday morning in New York City.

She'd powered up her phone on the elevator down, and was now amused to find it pinging virtually non-stop. There were a few messages from clients, several notifications for orders she needed to pick up, and auctions that were nearing deadlines… Raven, for a change, was tellingly quiet. _A good thing_ , Anna thought grimly, as she headed towards the café next door. Most of the messages, it turned out, were from Kitty, and she scrolled through them quickly with a growing smile, till she got to the last one – _I'll take it as a good sign that it's 10 in the morning and you still haven't replied to me yet._

With a grin on her face Anna hit the call button.

It'd barely rung before Kitty picked up.

"Oh my God, you're alive!" Kitty greeted her breathlessly. "So – how did it go?"

"Ohmigod, Kitty, he is so—"

She was gushing already, and she halted, suddenly remembering the need to breathe.

"What?" Kitty prompted her excitedly. "He's so what?!"

There were no words good enough. She couldn't get them out.

" _Amazing_ ," she exhaled, finally settling on the only word she could find. "He's amazing."

"Well obviously," Kitty replied testily. "Otherwise you wouldn't have gone to such insane lengths to find him. I want details, woman! _Details_!"

" _Kitty_ ," Anna retorted, half-laughing and half-remonstrating. "Sorry to disappoint, but I'm not into kiss-and-tell. What happens in the bedroom _stays_ in the bedroom."

Kitty's reply was to tut and sigh.

"God, you're no fun! At least tell me you didn't just spend all night talking!"

"Well," Anna answered mischievously, stepping into the shabby chic little café next door and finding the queue thankfully short. "We _did_ do some serious talking last night… As well as this morning…"

"Anna, you are killing me right now. Stop messing with me please. I know you fucked each other senseless all night. I just want a _little_ more than 'he is amazing', 'cos that's a given… …"

Anna couldn't help but chuckle gleefully. It was rare that she ever got to rib on anyone, and the fact that she could with Kitty was something she took great pleasure in.

"I'm not lying," she said, eyeing the colourful rows of cakes and sandwiches at the counter. "We talked." She paused. "He asked me to go back to London with him. He even had the ticket."

"Oh my God!" Kitty squealed, in a paroxysm of ecstasy once more. "And you said?"

"Yes. I said yes." She paused, added quickly, sternly: "Don't tell Raven. _Please_."

"Oh pfft," Kitty retorted rudely. "Why the hell would I tell Raven? Why should she care anyway? Oh—stop changing the subject! You're the worst damn tease!"

She laughed again.

"All right, all right already! We had hot, passionate, dirty sex till it was about 3 or 4 in the morning, and neither of us could see straight!" The statement came to an abrupt halt as she realised she was finally front of the queue, and the gay barista who usually served her was giving her some _very_ intrigued looks. "Uh… I'll have a double espresso, a latte with cream and an extra sprinkling of demerara sugar, and… a flat white."

"Wait," Kitty interrupted her. "Are you buying him _two_ coffees?"

"Well, yeah," Anna replied, balancing the phone on her shoulder and digging around for her card. "Remy likes his coffee either of two ways – very sweet or very strong. Sometimes both."

There was a short pause as Kitty evaluated the statement, and Anna paid for the drinks with an apologetic grin at the barista.

"Are you _sure_ you guys aren't, like, married already?" Kitty asked suspiciously.

" _No_. He just drank a lot of coffee while he was at my place... When I was at his place. I notice these things, you know?"

"Uh huh." Kitty's voice was sceptical. "You know, you always told me it was just some hot fling you guys had… But I'm beginning to get the feeling that isn't the whole story."

Anna rolled her eyes and bit her lip. She picked up a wooden stirrer and tapped it testily against the counter.

"We were thrown together on a job for a couple of weeks," she explained, turning aside when she noticed the barista was still trying to subtly listen in. "It was ...intense. Things… happened."

"Things, huh?" Kitty sounded amused. "If you say so. But I definitely think there's a story there. The way you got so worked up about him… ... One of these days I'll make you tell me what _really_ happened. I mean – the fact that Raven hates him is a thing in itself. The fact that she knows about him at all…"

"Raven doesn't _hate_ him," Anna countered irritably. "She just… can't _stand_ the fact that he can play the game pretty much as well as she does."

Coffees one and two had arrived, and she slid them across the counter towards her and placed them in the carry tray.

"Oh, believe me," Kitty replied seriously. "That woman is _jea-lous_ as hell of that man. And now I'm beginning to see why, when you say how 'intense' things were between you two a year ago. She has competition, and the thought of being second best drives her nuts."

Anna screwed up her nose with distaste.

"Ugh, you make her sound like an obsessed lover."

"Try obsessed mother."

The third coffee had finally arrived, and as the barista put it in the tray he winked at Anna and added:

"You know we deliver to the Worthington, right? Just call us with your order and your room number, and we'll send it up asap. Extra demerara included."

Anna grinned, mouthed a sincere _thank you_ , and headed out, grabbing a business card from the counter as she did so.

"Kitty," she said as she hit the sidewalk again. "Can we _not_ talk about Raven, please?"

"All right. I only really wanted to know how things were going with this hot fella of yours anyway. If he's treating you right, and making you happy, then I'm happy. Okay?"

It was still kind of weird to her – to have a totally uninvested person interested in her well-being. In the past, such behaviour had always caused her to be suspicious. Only the past few months had she learned that there were truly good people in this world – people who had been willing to love her unconditionally. She thought back with a sudden pang of longing to Caldecott… the beautiful river and the lazy old farm… and Irene, the blind old lady who would have adopted her and changed the course of her life.

What would that life had been like, she wondered? Certainly there would have been no Remy LeBeau in it right now.

"Seriously, Kitty, don't worry," she assured her. "He is… Well, so far, touch wood… He is just…" and she couldn't help from grinning giddily, "…like I said. _Amazing_. _Perfect._ "

"Okay, well," Kitty laughed. "I'm glad to hear it. Check in with me, okay? I want to know he's not suddenly turned into an ass."

"Liar," she shot back, skipping up the steps to the hotel and back into the revolving doors. "You just want all the gory details. I'm not telling you, you hear?!"

"Ha. You're on the verge of telling me, I can feel it. You just want to talk _all_ about that 'hot, passionate, dirty sex' you mentioned. It's only a matter of time!"

"Ugh!" Anna stepped in the lobby and headed to the elevators. She'd never known anyone quite like Kitty before – at least no one who she'd ever associated with this closely. She was almost becoming something Anna had never really had before – a friend. "You are terrible, Katherine Pryde, you know that?! Now listen," she continued, hitting the elevator button for her floor. "I'm going back to the room, so I'll have to check out for a little bit, okay?"

"Yeah, I know. More hot sex. I'll just leave you guys to it."

" _Stop it!_ " Anna was almost actually giggling now. "We're going to have breakfast and coffee!"

"Yeah, right. Whatever. Just check in with me again when you're _not_ fucking. Okay?"

 _Oh my God, this is the worst!_ Anna thought, stepping inside the elevator and massaging the growing headache between her eyes. _I don't want to have another friend again, ever!_

"All right, all right! I'll text you when we've finished fucking! Now I'm hanging up! Go!"

She ended the call, only to realise that there were two other guests in the elevator who had heard the entire tailend of the conversation. She didn't even bother hiding her chagrin.

" _Dammit!_ " she muttered out loud, stabbing ruefully at the _close door_ button.

-oOo-

The hotel room was quiet, and Anna stepped inside, setting the coffee on the desk.

"Hello?" she called.

There was movement by the net curtains, and she noticed Remy on the other side, standing out on the balcony, smoking a cigarette.

Anna stopped, perfectly happy to stand a moment and simply watch him. Leaning on the balcony, in only the dress pants he'd worn the previous night, with the sun shining in his auburn hair, completely oblivious to her presence… Just looking at that man with his long, lean, half-naked body was taking her right back to last night, and all the things that long, lean body of his could do to her.

Anna bit firmly into her bottom lip.

Circumspect she might be about what happened in the bedroom, but one thing she was _not_ shy about was sex itself. For so long it had been such a throwaway thing to her – a means to an end – a moment in time that, once over, was _over_. But last night, with _him_ … honestly, the thought of it was bringing the colour to her cheeks and making her wet just contemplating some of the things he'd done to her. Anna Raven certainly was no shrinking violet, but she definitely wasn't used to the kind of sex that left her weak at the knees the morning after.

In fact, the last time she'd felt like that had been with him, and that had been well over a year ago. Before that… she couldn't think of a time she'd been with anyone who'd made her feel like _this_.

She shook her head slightly and grinned ruefully to herself. This was a feeling she'd been taught made you vulnerable, wide open to the kind of mistakes no one like her should ever make. But if felt so darn _good_ that she wasn't inclined to sabotage it.

Instead she went up to the French windows and gently slid them open, standing in the doorframe to watch him a moment longer. He, however, had sensed her approach, and he turned at the railings, fixing her with a welcoming little smile.

"Hey," he greeted her.

"Hey," she answered softly.

For a little while they were silent, content just to soak in one another's presence.

"Coffee's here," she finally broke in, nodding back towards the room with a smile. "Pretty sure breakfast will be soon too. So I hope you're hungry, sugar."

"Hmm." He pushed himself off the railings – she saw his phone was in his hand. "I'm definitely hungry for somethin'," he remarked suggestively, looking her up and down like she was something sweet enough to gobble up in one whole bite.

"Meat's off the menu, Cajun," she lilted back wryly. "At least for now. I'm starvin', and not for more of the kinda tasty morsels _you're_ thinkin' of."

"Oh really?" He slowly covered the distance between them, coming to a standstill right inside her space. "Such a shame, chere. You're lookin' pretty damn delicious right now."

She was practically blocking his way back into the room; but the current close quarters didn't faze her. She met his gaze with a smouldering glance.

"Well, so are you, darling – but I reckon I've had my fill of being filled by you, Cajun – if'n ya know what I mean."

With that final food for thought, she swung right back round and into the room.

"Business call?" she called back to him breezily over her shoulder, wickedly satisfied to see him still standing in the doorway like she'd stunned him into some sort of paralysis. The mischievous look was enough to break the spell. He grinned almost helplessly, slipped the phone into his pocket, and followed her in.

"Nah. Just got my test results back."

"Oh?" she asked, confused, as she took the coffees out of the tray and laid them on the little breakfast table.

"Yeah. Got myself checked out before I came out here – when I figured it was you makin' me run your li'l maze anyways. Unfortunately, gettin' anythin' done in a timely manner on National Health is a bitch. But the main thing is – I'm clean."

He was standing next to her and she gave a sour grunt, picking up the espresso and the latte, offering both to him.

"Great," she replied sarcastically, not surprised when he went for the espresso. "Such amazin' news."

He gave her a quizzical look, not sure whether to be bemused or hurt by her obviously belligerent tone. Last night he'd insisted on using protection, which they'd rarely used before, especially once he'd figured there was zero chance of her ever getting pregnant, and he'd made a point of assuring her he always got himself checked out. At the time she'd thought his insistence could only have meant one thing – that there was someone else he was seeing – and while it had irked her in the moment, the distraction of their lovemaking had pushed it to the back of her mind.

Now it was there again in full force, and while she was reasoning to herself that maybe he wasn't seeing anyone else back in England, that this had all just been a necessary precaution, the idea that he'd had to have himself checked out at all was making her unreasonably cantankerous.

"Don't look at me like dat," he chided her cheerfully, seeing her expression. "It's good news. I was runnin' low on condoms. _Dat_ woulda been a nightmare."

She was just about to make some suitably scathing reply when there was a knock at the door.

"That'll be breakfast," he said, seemingly oblivious to the gloomy places her mind was going right now. "I'll get it."

He came back with a tray of delicious delights – croissants and Greek yoghurt with fresh fruits, butter, honey and jam. The special portion of French toast she'd ordered was on its own tray, and she pounced on it gleefully as he laid everything out on the bed.

"Oh, I've been hankerin' after these for an age!" she exclaimed, her bad mood suddenly forgotten. Since leaving for Mississippi all those months ago, it'd been so much easier to take pleasure in the simple things, and she knew that on some level, she had him to thank for it.

For a little while they sat on the bed with only the tray between them, quietly eating. It was in that very same silence that Anna realised that it was the first time either of them had had the chance to slow down and contemplate one another's presence since she'd walked right back into his life the evening before. Everything since then had been a whirl of emotions and hormones, and sure, that was all still there, but… … Sitting here now, doing something so normal and run-of-the-mill… It was a thing neither of them had ever really had. Back a year or two ago, there had _always_ been something in the background to distract them. Now, for once, they only had one another.

He was looking at her with the kind of smile she rarely saw on him – contented.

"What?" she asked. The word skipped out of her mouth, a single, giddy syllable that gave away exactly what she was feeling. He shrugged.

"Y'look different, is all," he replied. "You look happy."

"Hm." She took a swig of her coffee. "That might be 'cos I got fantastically laid last night."

He cocked his head sideways, the smile hitching higher on his lips as he recalled pleasurable memories of the previous night.

"I don't mean that," he said. "I jes' mean you look happy. In general. Like I ain't see ya look before." He didn't push the observation, merely continuing after a bite of his croissant: "Last time I saw ya, bein' happy or content wasn't exactly on your agenda. Mind you, I don't reckon it ever was, not in all the time I knew ya." He lifted his coffee to his lips and gave her a look. "Don't gimme that face, chere," he continued. "It's _nice_ t'see ya like this, all laidback and relaxed. I sure hope it wasn't just gettin' laid that's responsible for it either."

She straightened her expression, totally unaware that she'd been pulling a face at all.

"Don't think I ever met a body who was so intense before," he added when she said nothing. "Y'had that look in your eyes all the damn time. Wild. Intense. Like you was all ready to pounce on the world."

"And I don't now?" she asked him, curious.

He regarded her stoically.

"It's still there," he concluded after a moment's thought. "Not the way it used to be though." He paused and leaned back on one arm. "Nice, ain't it? No more fightin', no more battles to be won or lost. I'm speakin' for myself too, chere. I used to think the thrill of workin' for Essex was what kept life excitin', but…"

"But it was only keeping you alive," she finished for him. "Because you were dead inside."

She'd expected the smile would drop from his face, but it didn't. It was only because she knew him so well that she could see there was a sadness there.

"I don't think you or I were very diff'rent on that score," he said.

Her own smile was wry as she looked down into her hands.

"I guess not. Running around, being other people, is one way of dealing with it." She looked up at him pointedly. "So is lying, cheating, and thieving your way through life for a shitzillion dollars. And I bet that's the _least_ of what you got up to."

"And I bet stealin' identities is the least of what _you_ got up to."

"You know what they say. The higher the risk, the bigger the thrill."

"And now?"

"And now…" Her eyes flickered as she gazed round the room, pondering. "Now there are other things to fill in the gaps than cheap thrills. Or expensive ones, for that matter." She eyed him critically. "You?"

"Me?" He clearly hadn't been expecting the question. "When you come this close to losin' the thing that plugged in those shitty gaps for ya… well, I guess you learn that some thrills ain't exactly equal."

She knew he was talking about her. To hear that kind of honesty from him, however covertly given, made her heart soar. And he merely sat there, looking at her, gauging her reaction. When she found she couldn't get the words out, he picked up a strawberry from the plate of fruit and handed it to her.

With a sardonic little smile, she took it, popped it into her mouth, and bit into the sweet flesh. Her heart began to flutter more when he pushed himself forward from his leaning position, his eyes fixing intently on her mouth. God, this feeling was delicious. How could he do this to her with just a look?

"Speaking of work," she began with false nonchalance, "looks like you've managed to get together a fantastic set-up back in London. Russell Square? That's some prime real estate."

His eyes lifted to hers, then back to her mouth again.

"Ha. That had nothing to do wit' me. Jake was the one who managed to fandangle that one."

"Jake? As in Jacob Gavin Jr.?"

The smile flickered, his gaze now firmly back on hers.

"Right." His mood swerved from cheerful to guarded in a second at her apparent knowledge. "You got Raven t'track me, chere?" he finally asked after a few cautious beats.

" _No._ " She was almost offended he'd even think it. "The last thing I wanted while I was away was to have Raven tempt me with news of you." She picked up another strawberry, added in a more serious tone: "And anyway – _you_ told her not to track _me_. Even though you must've been curious. So I figured I'd return the favour."

"Peh." He waved a hand. "Even if I _had_ asked, she never woulda done it."

"But you didn't ask. That's the point. And I... I respected you enough not to watch you from afar. I gave you what you gave me. Life, on your own terms."

She felt a little self-conscious at her own earnestness, and it made her instantly want to bring back the lightness they'd maintained so far.

"Anyway – it made it a nightmare trying to track you down once I was ready for it," she continued quickly, biting into the strawberry. "It took me weeks to find you. You're pretty good at going dark. Even Raven was impressed."

He gave a sour look, like he didn't give a damn what Raven thought at all.

"And everything I learned about you," she ploughed on in a rush, "well, that was all Kitty – not Raven."

"Katherine?"

"Yeah. She only reported back to me what she saw – and I didn't ask for anything more than that. There wasn't much else I was interested in apart from you yourself."

Having said that, she licked the strawberry juice very thoroughly from each finger – maybe a little too voluptuously – but there were endless ways in which she wanted to impress him, keep him snared. There was an art to snaring men, after all, that she'd studied extensively out of pure necessity... But she wasn't sure if the same rules of engagement worked with _him_.

He lifted an eyebrow and drained the rest of his coffee.

"Hm. I hope I didn't disappoint."

"Remy LeBeau, disappointing?" She gave a satiny laugh. "Is that even possible?"

He set his cup down slowly on the tray.

"Anna-Marie," he murmured. "I'm fairly certain, goin' on things you've said t'me in the past, that I disappointed you more than once before we got t' this point."

She didn't want to talk about it. She took the final strawberry from the platter and proffered it to his lips. The look he levelled at her was practically smouldering. He caught the fruit with his tongue and pretty much licked the whole darn thing into his mouth. The sight sent tingles zagging down her spine and right into the root of her.

"We played one helluva game, Cajun," she felt the urge to say. "I think I only started feeling disappointed when it stopped being a game and started to become something else."

"Hm." The sound rumbled in the back of his throat. "'Somethin' else', huh?"

"Yeah. For a little while back there, it became 'something else', while we were still playing by the old rules. It got a little bit more fun once we abandoned them."

He laughed quietly.

"Y'mean abandoned them as in threw all caution to the wind and just fucked each other senseless for those amazin' couple of days? 'Cos if so, 'fun' ain't exactly how I woulda described it."

The heat of his gaze was like a brand; but she'd never been the type to flinch, and she didn't now.

"Yeah, I guess we _were_ pretty distracted by that Empharma heist," she replied with a humorous twist of regret. "Maybe it wasn't as fun as I remember."

"You tease me, chere," he rejoined drily. "I couldn't'a given a shit about Empharma or Essex at the time. All I'm sayin' is, describin' those couple of days as 'fun' woulda been an understatement."

"Oh yeah? So what would've been a better word then?"

"Oh, I dunno." He leaned in close to her, a breath away from a kiss. "Dirty? Sexy? Fuckin' hot?"

So saying, he bridged the few centimetres between them, kissing her fiercely; and she kissed him back just as passionately, her hands coming up to cradle his cheeks, to hold him closer. A few seconds in and he pulled away quickly, quick enough to make her think that he was purposely toying with her. For a heartbeat or two they stared one another down, only an inch or so apart – close enough for her to think that maybe he'd close the gap again. He didn't. Just when she'd thought he _would,_ he backed off, sliding off the bed and making a grab for his shirt.

"And where are you goin'?" she asked him, watching on with mingled feelings of frustration and lust as he slipped on the dress shirt and buttoned it up slowly, hiding away all that tight, tanned flesh from her gaze.

"I need t' check outta my room, pick up my stuff," he answered briskly. "I'm already late for checkout."

"Oh, I'm sure you'll be able to charm the receptionist outta any trouble," she threw at him pointedly, still put out by the way he'd teased her with the promise of kisses that had never come.

"Now there's an idea," he agreed cheerfully, picking up his wallet and feeling the pockets of his suit jacket for his room key.

"Don't pretend you didn't think of it already," she almost huffed.

"Chere, I been so distracted the past few hours, checkin' out and charmin' receptionists have been the last thing on my mind." He swiped the latte from the breakfast table and headed for the door.

"Darlin', knowin' you like I do, distractions rarely divert ya from the task at hand." She popped the last of the French toast into her mouth and chewed irately on it. "You were _always_ plannin' on charmin' your way outta payin' a fine." She got to her feet, drained the rest of her coffee, and headed towards the bathroom. "I'm going for a shower. You've made me all dirty, Cajun."

She decided that if he was going to torment her, she was going to do the same, undoing her blouse and shrugging it off casually as she went. It was enough to get him to halt in the doorway, hand poised over the handle, and watch her with his usual shit-eating grin. When she got to the door she stopped, turned, and slowly thumbed open the button of her pants.

"What you waitin' for, Cajun?" she drawled at him in her native Southern accent, slipping off her pants. "Ain'tcha late already?"

"Chere," he answered sincerely. "I ain't never too late to watch you give me a striptease, if that's what this is."

"Oh, it's definitely a tease," she assured him with a smile, opening up the bathroom door and retreating just an inch or two inside. "Don't'cha make me wait too long, darlin'," she added sensuously, before stepping over the threshold and shutting the door with a neat _click_ behind her.

-oOo-

Anna stood under the showerhead, working shampoo through her hair, her mind occupied with pleasantly sordid thoughts of her wily, Cajun thief.

Of course, she couldn't call him _hers_ yet, but for some reason she did, and mentally she'd done so for a while now.

 _He was hers_. It didn't matter that, in actuality, he never really had been.

She smiled to herself, her body still alive with the wickedly sinful things they'd indulged in the past few hours.

The previous evening, while waiting for him to arrive from the airport, she'd been a complete and utter mess – anxious in ways she'd never been in her entire life. She'd booked the most expensive hotel room, primped and preened herself up into something he couldn't possibly have said no to. When she'd gone down into the lobby to wait for him to make his entrance, fully intending to reveal herself to him as soon as he did, an irrational fear that had been building up for _days_ had suddenly reared its ugly, demanding head. What if he hadn't wanted her? _What if there was somebody else already?_

And then there he'd been.

Walking through those rotating doors and heading straight to the front desk, carefully groomed in a plain black suit and grey pea coat, effortlessly turning the eyes of a group of pretty young twenty-somethings who'd been milling in the lobby. Her heart had failed her. It was the first time she'd laid eyes on him in over a year, and he hadn't damn well changed a bit. Still so heart-stoppingly beautiful, so elegantly self-assured. He'd flirted with the attractive receptionist like he'd never almost, definitely, _maybe,_ given his heart away to the mysterious but broken identity thief named Anna Marie Raven.

The sight of him had left her paralysed. She'd turned tail and fled, right back up to her room.

Was he even aware of what he did to her, the woman they'd once called Weapon Zero, the Rogue?

"Just do it," Kitty had told her. "You need to do it."

 _Need._ Yes – it hadn't just been about want anymore, it had been about need. The need for a resolution, for closure, if that was what it had ended up being. There were things she'd been prepared to do for him – that she was _still_ prepared to do. Debase herself in all sorts of ways that would've left her wide open. She'd realised, at that point, that even if he'd refused her she would've taken a single night spent with him, even if nothing else.

And it was morning now, and he was still _here_ , and while he always _had_ been the morning after, it seemed like an insurmountable battle won that he hadn't _refused_ her outright.

 _Like he could've refused you, gal_ , she thought to herself, ducking her head under the water jet and rinsing the suds out of her hair.

She'd known he _wouldn't_ have said no, deep down – but that hadn't eased other questions. Last night, other needs had been paramount. Like connecting with him on a purely physical level, knowing that he still wanted her. These were things she'd had fulfilled in the most lavish way she could ever have imagined the previous night. When he'd kissed her back down in the gallery, it was all the answer she'd ever needed – everything afterwards had been the glorious icing on the cake.

She'd practically dragged him up here, and neither of them had felt it necessary to say a word. As soon as they'd got through the door, they'd been unable to keep their hands or their mouths off one another. It was amazing they'd even found the time to talk at all.

Now that all those pheromones had been worked through – _at least partially_ , she thought wryly to herself – all those other niggling questions she'd been asking herself were beginning to rise back up to the surface. The sex had been great, yes – but it wasn't entirely why she'd wanted to see him again. Now that she knew that he wasn't going to run a mile, there were suddenly a million other things she was allowing herself to want. To _hope_ for. Things that _frightened_ her, precisely because they were possible.

She stepped out from under the water slightly, wringing the moisture out of her hair, and—

"Hey, chere," his voice suddenly murmured behind her, right there in her ear.

She jolted with surprise at his magical appearance as if from thin air, a kneejerk reaction born from years of training bringing her fist up, lightning fast, to deck him in the face. Lucky for him – and partly to her relief – he caught her wrist easily, laughing when, in the process, she almost lost her balance on the slippery floor. It was the perfect excuse for him to catch her, an arm shooting round her waist and scooping her up against his already fully naked body.

" _Jesus Christ_ — _ya scared the hell outta me, Remy!_ " she yelled, elbowing him in the gut when his only answer was to hoot with laughter. She was only partially appeased by his pained " _Oof_!" and a prompt end to his snickering. He let go of her; but tellingly, she didn't quite have the heart to move out of his space.

"Sorry," he said, still with a smile in his voice. "I couldn't resist gettin' you back for that striptease."

"Oh really?" she replied archly over her shoulder. "That striptease was just payback for you purposely spoilin' what I thought was gonna be a really hot make-out session."

"Aw." He put his hands on her hips and pulled her back up against him. "Don't be like that, chere. I wasn't lyin' about bein' late for checkout."

"I know you weren't," she answered, her ire at him rapidly fading as she felt him push her hair from the back of her neck and press an open-mouthed kiss there. She closed her eyes and purred a little at the sensation of his lips on her again. "Didja manage t' charm your way outta payin' a fine?" she asked after a moment, her voice thick with sudden desire.

"Mmm-hmm," he hummed against her neck. "I'm officially stayin' wit' you in dis room now. Don't worry, _beb_. I put everythin' on my card."

He reached over her shoulder for the shower gel and squirted some onto her back.

"You shouldn't have," she mumbled sarcastically, as she felt his hands finally begin to massage the soap into her skin, working up a lather.

"Shouldn't I?" he put his face back into her neck and kissed her with more than just a hint of bite.

"No," she said. "But I really ain't in the mood t'fight you over it." She fell silent a moment as his fingers expertly worked at all the knots and kinks in her body. "Mmm. That feels _so_ damn good," she crooned. "You should do this for a livin'. I swear you'd be richer than Hades within a year."

He unlatched his mouth from her neck and laughed softly.

"Make a livin' from feelin' up naked women in the shower?" He rested his chin on her head as his hands came up over her shoulders and kneaded them with a firm yet gentle rhythm. "Sounds great. When can I start?"

"You can start with me," she said, eyes still closed from all-out bliss. "I'll buy your services outright. Have ya do this… hm. At least two days outta the week."

"And the rest of the week?" he asked, his hands moving down her back again.

"Hmm. The rest of the week… I'll keep you chained to the bed."

A laugh sounded in his throat.

"That don't sound very profitable, p'tit."

The bottle of shower gel was back in his hand, and he squeezed a liberal amount onto her chest, right in the valley between her breasts, throwing the bottle aside into a corner with a clatter.

"That depends on how you wanna get paid, sugar," she half-whispered, as his hands came around her waist, her senses tingling under the texture of his roughened fingers.

"I dunno what you mean, chere," he bantered back smoothly. "Are you suggestin' you're gonna pay me wit' sex?"

"Don'tcha think it could be very profitable for the both of us?"

"Hmm." His hands reached up and cupped her breasts, palming them slowly, sensuously. "How about I carry on wit' my thievin', and you carry on wit'… whatever it is dat you do… … And I give you de sex for free. How does dat sound?"

She loved how thick and gravelly his accent got when he was worked up like this. She didn't bother answering him. Instead she leaned her head back on his shoulder, slipped a hand round the back of his neck, and pulled him down into a kiss. Almost immediately his mouth was hungrily eating up her own, his hands thumbing her nipples, his pelvis pressing almost instinctively against her back. He was hard already, his erection pressing against her backside; and she pushed back against it, eager to have every square inch of her flesh in contact with his, to have him against her in ways that weren't yet possible.

He didn't leave her wanting for long, his hips responding by grinding back into her like he couldn't get enough of her either. She hardly noticed when his right hand left her breast; but she did when it trailed downward and slipped right in between her legs, his fingers promptly giving her a massage of a different kind. She moaned aloud into his mouth, all but breaking their kiss.

"Dat's right, chere," he whispered into her ear. "Sing for me."

The words were so damn sexy in the moment that she pressed his hand in hers, guiding his movements, moving her body to the timing of his strokes. She was peripherally aware of his lips pressed against her temple, of him watching her body, mesmerised by the little show she was putting on for him. Most of her focus, however, was on the fire he was so effortlessly stoking inside her.

She felt his smile against her skin, his lips move as he hissed: "Anna, you are _so_ fuckin' hot… …"

God, he was like a drug. She wanted more and more and more.

She twined her fingers into his hair and pulled him back into a searing kiss, proclaiming roughly right in the middle of it:

"I want you inside me right now, you bastard."

One thing she also loved about him – give him a prompt, and he was always quick to act on it. Without a single second of hesitation, he'd hooked her left knee under his hand, lifting it aside, as his right arm moved to hook her waist. Shifting his weight, he'd lined up their bodies like it was instinct, like he didn't have to think about it – and she marvelled at the way he did it, like bodies fitting together was an art to him, complete and utter second nature. With a thrust of his hips he entered her with a grunt, hitting the deepest, most sensitive spot inside her so effortlessly that she let out a yelp. Within seconds the rhythm of his thrusts had turned her legs to a quivering mush, and she put out a trembling hand, finding the shower wall and holding on for dear life.

He slowed a little, leaning in to her ear and whispering in that smug drawl of his:

"Am I too much for you, _cherie_?"

Her only answer was to dig the fingernails of her free hand into his ass and speed him up again.

As a rule, Anna had never enjoyed shower sex, although she was beginning to think her current lover might change her mind, or at least prove to be the exception to the rule. The first time she'd ever tried it was with Cody, and they'd both ended up flat on their asses on the shower stall floor, laughing at each other, a bruise or two thrown into the bargain. She was beginning to think that Remy, however, had the insane athleticism, poise and grace to make it work. He had no problem flipping her into all sorts of positions, a fact that would've made her laugh out loud if she hadn't been so darn beside herself with orgasmic ecstasy. The things he wrung from her were things she didn't even think she understood herself. All she knew was that they felt good, and that she didn't want them to stop.

By the time it was all over she was a pruny mess and in need of another thorough clean, which he was only too damn happy to provide. This time, however, she got a little of her own back by thoroughly scrubbing him off too, which almost ended up being more fun than it was worth – another little ploy she was sure he'd planned all along.

"You are the worst," she chided him, as she briskly worked soap into his chest, sounding so scathing in her pronouncement that he almost looked crestfallen.

"Who, _moi_? What'd I do?"

"I came in here to get clean, Cajun," she shot at him, half-vexed and half-amused by his school-boyish expression of dejection. "Not get even dirtier than before!"

She had no problem paying attention to his jiggly bits, nevertheless cleaning them so vigorously that there was no way in hell he was going to start getting any other degenerate ideas into his pretty head.

"No need t'be so aggressive, chere," he remarked at her less than tender ministrations. "I need at least another hour to refuel before I'm ready for you again."

She looked up at him, her eyebrows working furiously as she tried to be more cross than entertained by his endlessly risqué banter.

"Why aren't you passed out on the bed or somethin'?" she snapped at him uncharitably; although she was softened enough to let up a little on the brusque and decidedly unsexy scrub she was giving him. "Isn't that what most guys do when they've blown their load about ten times in the past ten hours?"

He winced.

"You exaggerate, _beb_."

"Ha. If only. I'm gonna be waddling around with an ice pack between my legs for the next couple of days, I hope you know that!"

He laughed so heartily at the image that it was almost contagious. It annoyed her, but she couldn't help it – a traitorous smile began to work its way across her lips.

"Ha! The Rogue don't bat an eyelid at knives or bullets, but give her a thorough reamin' and she's brought to her knees." He lowered his voice, and added with a waggle of the eyebrows: "Sometimes literally. Which I _love_ when you do, by the way."

She slapped his chest, which backfired when it sprayed soap suds into her face.

"Ugh, you are a living nightmare!" she declared with mock ferocity. "I think I kind of hate you, Cajun!"

"That's okay, Anna," he answered helplessly, and with a little too much sincerity, as he hooked an arm around her shoulders and planted a chaste yet vigorous kiss on the top of her head. "I think I kinda love you too."

-oOo-


	2. I Would, For You

**Disclaimer:** These characters belong to Marvel, and I have nothing to do with Marvel.

 **Rating:** Rated M for sex.

 **Author notes:** This chapter was a birthday gift for the awesome **Jehilew** , and was the reason this ficlet came into being in the first place! So thanks, Jehilew, for being an inspiration, as well as being all-out awesome! :) XXX

* * *

 **\- 96 Hours -**

 **I Would, For You**

 _It's late, and he should be home, but… here he is, in his office, at his desk, still staring at his tablet screen._

 _This should be just like any other job; just a routine client check. Katherine Pryde's employee file stares right back up at him. Everything checks out – everything is exactly as it should be. So why is his heart in his mouth?_

Katherine Pryde.

 _He remembers the name of course – written in small, neat print on the spine of a mem-chip case. One of hundreds that had been archived by the original Weapon X project._

 _He can barely breathe. There's a feeling inside him, one he's buried for months and months now, that's snaking up inside him again and threatening to spill out._

 _"Anna," he murmurs to himself. "It's you, Anna."_

 _It's the name he's been denying himself for an age, and saying it now is like an incantation to break a spell. His gut churns furiously. Even now, 14 months and thousands of miles apart, she does things to him no other woman has done. There are things she conjures up inside him that have no name, driving hungers he hasn't trusted himself to feel._

 _Until now._

 _He gets to his feet and goes to the window, he lights up a cigarette._

 _He considers how to play this. Toys with the idea of simply contacting Katherine right now, calling her out on this little charade, telling her it's a waste of time. He's waited so damn long for her already. And now – suddenly – she's tantalisingly within arm's reach. He_ wants _a resolution to this so bad. And, in a matter of a few short hours, he can have it. He can have_ her _._

 _He sucks in a slow drag and lets it go in a torrent._

 _There's another part of him that wants to string this out, to follow this trail of breadcrumbs right down to the prize at the end. He admires good craftsmanship, and he's always admired hers. He wants to see how this little ruse she's constructed plays out, how she plans to draw him in. It wouldn't be the first time he's let himself be knowingly snared by a woman. And hell – he'd be dumb to turn down a free flight and an all-expenses paid trip to New York._

 _And then her at the end of it…_

 _He taps loose ash and smiles tightly to himself._

 _The promise of her presence; the things he remembers and the things he's forgotten… He's all about delayed gratification. He won't spoil her plan. He'll bide his time, let this play out. See her under her own terms, as she_ wants _him to see her. He'll wait, for her._

 _He grinds the cigarette out on the sill and closes the window._

 _He goes back to his tablet, and starts searching for flights to NY._

-oOo-

The streets of New York were alive with sights and sounds and smells that had been the backdrop of his life for so long, sensations he'd thought he'd forgotten, and yet now covered him in a security blanket that was as comforting as it was familiar.

He'd been here before; walked down this exact same street before with the sun warm on his back, a beautiful woman by his side, nimbly pocketing the same old wallets from the same old unsuspecting passers-by. It wasn't hard to resist the urge to do so now. His mind was on far more pleasant distractions.

He slipped an arm round the waist of the woman walking beside him, pulled her just that little bit closer. There was nothing else for him right now but her, her, her.

"So," he asked her playfully, wanting her even closer but still irrationally afraid of scaring her away, "where we goin'?"

Anna smiled up at him, free and easy, hooking her thumb in the back pocket of his jeans and coming in closer so that their hips were flush.

"Just some place that opened a couple of months back. They do amazing chicory coffee. I thought you might like a little taste of home."

 _Home_. The South hadn't been his home for years, and he didn't give a damn about chicory coffee, but if it made her happy he didn't care.

"Mmm, sounds good," he grinned stupidly. He put his face in her hair and savoured the closeness. She smelled of lime and bergamot, the fancy soap he'd taken pleasurable satisfaction in slathering all over her in the shower this morning. The scent was enough to take him elsewhere, to the mouth-watering delights of her body, of their lovemaking. They'd only been back in one another's company for a full 15 hours or so, but they'd hardly done anything else. A part of him was painfully aware that there was so much for them to catch up on, but… the rest of him was in no mood to rush things. She'd never been this open, this responsive to him, and it was damn gratifying to have her as unapologetically into him right now as he was into her. Even if the change in her brought up a thousand questions that demanded an answer.

She led him into a chic little café he didn't recognise, her easy banter with the proprietors telling him that she came here often. He noticed that she didn't let go of him until they took their seats by the window, a token of possessiveness that made him stupidly, deliriously happy.

He ordered a chicory coffee to go with his light lunch, just to return the sentiment; wondering, not for the first time in the past week or so, whether he wasn't just dreaming this all. He'd been in enough simulations to know how real they could seem; but most of them didn't have content like this, not the ones he'd spent time in anyhow. The dirty sex, sure – the giddy little moments in-between, not so much.

She was looking at him across the table, trying to hide a smile. He didn't think he'd ever seen this expression of girlish coyness from her before, and it was tugging at all sorts of emotions he'd purposely closed off a long time gone. It seemed so insane to be with her like here like this, after everything they'd been through, that it made him laugh.

"What's so funny?" she asked him with an inquisitive smile.

He leaned back in his seat and shrugged helplessly.

"Nothin'. Jes' the fact that we're here, really doin' this, chere." He stretched out his legs, innocently bumping her foot as he did so. "Last time we did the café thing, circumstances were kinda, well…" he gestured vaguely, " _diff'rent._ " He hooked her calf with his own as he continued: "You remember, huh? The day after we met, by the river. You was ready t'fight me t'the death, chere, if I remember correctly. Pitched a thousand dollar's worth of expensive gear down the Hudson while you were at it."

She rolled her eyes at him.

"Yeah, well, y'didn't exactly endear yourself t'me, sugar," she retorted in the most sarcastically sweet tone he'd ever heard. "Coming along and actin' like you were God's gift, thinkin' you were so darn clever seein' through my Tanya Trask identity."

He loved it. The way the South randomly started edging back into her accent when she got piqued. It was the kind of thing that, frankly, made him want to haul her right back off into bed.

"Admit it," he couldn't help but prod her silkily, "you thought I was hot." He paused, and she lifted a sceptical eyebrow, to which he added suggestively, "I sure as hell thought _you_ were."

She pouted, slipping her feet out from between his own, replying nonchalantly as she did so:

"Well, ya weren't _bad_ -lookin', I s'ppose. But then, when you see as many beautiful men as _I_ have, they all start to look the same after a while."

She was doing such a perfect job of getting under his skin that he was instantly ready to respond to it… only to be immediately cut off when their drinks were served.

He grinned and hooked her foot again. He needed the contact.

"Hm," he sounded casually. "Yeah. You're right. Sooooo many years spent fuckin' around with the world's most beautiful people, and yet…" and he leaned in, holding her gaze sensuously, "I still don't reckon I ever met a woman quite like you."

"Y'flatter me, Cajun," she remarked coolly, lifting her coffee to her lips. "But I'm pretty sure I can't've been the first woman who ever snared yah 'cos she was a challenge."

This time there wasn't even a hint of a smile on her face, none of the playful flirtation they'd been indulging in all morning long. She suddenly seemed a little distant, which confused him, but… she didn't move her feet away from his, which was a kind of comfort.

" _Non_ ," he admitted quietly, seriously. "But you're the first I'm still here with, two years down the line."

She laid the cup down and gave him a look.

"Liar," she said softly – because she knew, just like he did, that the first woman who'd ever challenged him – the forbidden daughter of a rival gang – was the one he'd ended up marrying. The one he'd still have been with, if things had ended up differently.

Their food arrived. He couldn't help noticing that something had shifted her mood, and he was peripherally aware that it was something he'd said. She'd gone from almost blissfully giddy to brooding, uncertain. It reminded him that there were things he still didn't know about, things that had happened to her the past 14 months that he'd been cut off from. There was certainly a lot that had happened to _him_ , and he knew he didn't know where to begin to explain it all to her.

"I did, y'know," he spoke up after a minute or so of silence. "Think I'd never met a woman like you. I thought it the moment I first looked up into your eyes that night in the bar. And later," he continued, giving a half-smile at the memory, "when you handed my ass t'me in that hotel room… I was pretty certain I'd never meet a woman like you again."

It was an honest, almost whimsical thought – enough at least, to once more soften her demeanour. She looked down into her plate and smiled, saying: "Well, you got the drop on me too, Cajun, so we're square. For a long time after, I thought it was unfair that the fates or whoever had sent you _my_ way. The last thing I'd thought I'd needed was someone to come along and worm his way into my life, ferreting out all my secrets."

He quietly noted that her accent was hidden once more, a sign that somehow spoke volumes.

"Oh? And when did you change your mind 'bout that?" he asked her softly.

"I dunno." She shrugged with false insouciance. "But it might've been the night we went to _La Princesse_."

"Oh really?" He raised an eyebrow at her, wanting her to talk more about it; but instead she'd dropped her eyes again and was stabbing her fork into her salad.

"Uh huh." She flicked a glance up at him with a flash of a smile, before biting into a cherry tomato. He didn't know how she did it, but she did it. She made even the most innocuous of gestures seem indescribably sexy. Was it just him? He didn't think so.

"It wasn't what came after," she continued after a few moments. "It was what came before." He gave her a quizzical look, and she explained: "You came into my room to wake me up. I woke up and you were there. Right next to me." This time she held his eyes, her gaze steadfast. "I knew what you wanted," she almost whispered. "I knew what you were thinking. I wouldn't've said no to you. I think you knew that. But you still backed off anyway." She picked up a piece of rocket and popped it into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. "No one had ever backed off before," she finished quietly.

The admission seemed to shame her, and she dropped her eyes again.

It made him realise something.

He didn't know a damn thing about her sexual past, but one thing he did know was that she was the kind of woman who was used to taking control in the bedroom. He'd wondered about that then, and he wondered about it now. Getting her to slow down, to relax, to just _enjoy_ herself, had been a thing in itself. It'd made him curious about her experiences with men, about how she approached sexual relationships. There was a clue in her statement… but he didn't think it was true. He knew that Cody at least had never forced anything on her, and he figured that was where her point lay. Like Cody, he'd never taken advantage of her.

"I dunno," he returned casually, wanting to bring levity back to the conversation. "I remember afterwards ya seemed pretty certain I'd taken advantage of you that night."

She waved a hand dismissively.

"I was angry with you when I said that. Truth is, we both took advantage of each other. I was lonely and needful as all hell – and so were you."

He laughed.

"You make it sound like we were desperate."

"Weren't we?"

"Pretty sure we woulda had no trouble gettin' laid elsewhere if we'd both really wanted it."

"That ain't exactly what I meant," she replied slyly, the accent edging back into her voice. "We were both desperate for each other. I don't think I ever met a man I wanted so damn much."

Well, this was a hell of a confession. It was the kind of thing that made him want to prod her again and again for more, but he reined in the urge with an effort.

"Then I guess you're right, chere," he said easily. "We're square. 'Cos I don't think I ever met a woman I wanted so damn much, and that ain't changed." She seemed flushed, tense that she had said too much, and so he ploughed right on off-handly: "Speakin' of _La Princesse_ , I booked us a table there tonight. So when we're done here, we're gon' go shoppin', and you're gon' buy yourself somethin' nice. On me, of course," he concluded with his most winning smile.

"Ha!" Her laugh was sarcastic. "You wanna tempt fate again, sugar?"

" _Non_." He shrugged. "I just wanna take you there without bus'ness interferin' in the background. Pleasant as our last visit was, I'd prefer it if we went without me worryin' that you're gonna drop some bombshell from my past. Or that you start channelling Ophelia Sarkissian again." He visibly shuddered. "'Cos sure – I don't mind mixin' a bit of bus'ness wit' pleasure… But this time, I really want it t'be _all_ pleasure, chere. Now that it _can_ be."

She gave a light laugh, her humour back in place.

"Don't worry," she replied. "The only kinda 'business' that can interrupt us right now is Raven – and I've warned her away from us under pain of death."

-oOo-

There was one thing he knew Anna loved, and that was haute couture.

He remembered her guest room, the one he'd spent several nights in, a space occupied by closets-full of fine designer clothes and boxes of unworn shoes. The time he'd spent casing out the place had only enlightened him as to her gorgeously expensive taste. He'd spent an hour or so rigging her neural scanner to read his brainwaves, hacking into the black box and uploading his data to the drive. It had just so happened that the box was in the back of the closet in the guest room, and there he'd sat, in among a rack of silky, satiny, lacy dresses that had smelled of her and made it increasingly difficult to concentrate.

He'd gone to bed _thinking_ about it that night.

About _her_ , in pretty, perfumed dresses, wearing them just for him. That little red number she'd worn at _La Princesse_ had honestly been like a wet dream come true.

He was trying hard not to think it about it, now, with Anna walking along the racks of fancy dresses, running her fingers over the soft, sumptuous fabrics. She looked so completely in her element that, for a second, he was happy to watch her, to admire her. Even now, dressed down in cotton harem pants and blouse, her hair drawn up in an unruly ponytail, he found her strikingly, ridiculously, beautiful. He'd spent more than a few nights the past several months reconstructing her in his memory, and now that he didn't need to resort to that anymore… well, he was kind of getting the feeling like he might be waking up again any moment now.

He walked up to her, resting his hand on the small of her back, almost as if to satisfy himself that she _was_ real.

"Anna," he murmured. "I'm gonna head up t'the men's section. I'll meet ya back down here, okay?"

"Okay," she said, absently tucking a lock of white hair behind her ear and fixing him a blissful smile. It was an invitation and he took it, leaning over to kiss her on the lips – such a simple action that most couples would take for granted, and that yet seemed so hard-won for the two of them. She kissed him back and for a couple of seconds it was like nothing between them had ever been complicated.

"I won't be long," he promised her when they'd pulled apart, and when she nodded, he left.

One thing he'd learned through years of spycraft and highfalutin heists – looking the part was always an essential aspect of getting the job done. Most things worth stealing were in the most exclusive places; and most of the people worth marking were the rich, the famous, the powerful. When you were young and beautiful and looked the part, it was easy to fit in. He guessed the same kind of people and places were where Anna had also acquired her expensive tastes.

He picked out an outfit for himself, allowed the tailor to hum and hah over the best combinations and make a few adjustments. He was as happy to impress Anna as he figured she'd be him. After he'd paid he headed back to the women's section, feeling pretty sure she still wouldn't be finished. Finding her nowhere in sight, he headed to the fitting rooms, which were apparently empty.

"Anna?" he called.

"Here," her voice emanated from the one closed stall. "I'm just trying some things on. You done?"

"Uh huh."

"I'm nearly done too. But there's something I want to show you. Won't be a sec…"

"Okay."

There was a white leather couch up against the wall, and he took a seat. While he was waiting, he took a moment to check his messages. Jake was complaining about having a mountain of resumes from potential secretaries to deal with, with no input to be had from him – "Sucks t'be you, Jake, I'm on vacation", he'd muttered to himself, promptly deleting the message – and Katherine had sent him a single thumbs up, which told him that he'd already been the topic of some sort of conversation between her and Anna.

He grinned at that, amused that Katherine – whom he hadn't even had a single conversation with outside of business – felt entitled to let him know that she approved of his treatment of her friend.

"Okay, I'm done now," Anna suddenly broke into his train of thoughts. She opened the door of her cubicle and stepped out under the white lights, striking a perfectly unstudied pose.

He stared.

The dress was a skin-tight, barely-there black number that left little to the imagination. The wide, square-shaped scoop of the neckline left most of her shoulders bare; the hemline hardly reached mid-thigh, revealing long, bare, streamlined legs that any man would ache to get wrapped up in. Her hair was loose and fluffed out, soft curls licking the curve of her shoulders.

"So?" she asked. "Whaddya think?"

He tried to answer, but nothing came out. His mouth was dry.

"Yeah, I guess it ain't appropriate for dinner," she drawled decidedly. "I'll take it off."

She turned to head back into the booth.

"Anna," he finally managed to get out.

She turned expectantly.

"C'mere."

She jerked him a conspiratorial little smile, and pretty much sashayed on over; he leaned back in the seat and slung his arms casually over the top of the sofa, waiting to see what was on her mind. He was only half-surprised when she came right into his space, resting a knee between his legs, almost as if she was about to straddle his thigh, daring him not to touch her. He didn't. Not yet, anyway.

"Y'don't like?" she asked him in a near-whisper, and he looked her up and down, smiled, said:

"Oh, I _more_ than like. But I think you know that, don't ya, chere."

She grinned and leaned in a little closer towards him, whispered:

"Yeah, I guess I do."

For a few glorious pulses of time he looked up at her and she looked down on him, and he struggled with a desire that threatened to chew him up and spit him out. If he touched her, he didn't think he could stop till he had her, right here, right now. But then, he'd spent his entire life upping the ante, meeting unequal challenges just so he could charm and fake his way into winning. He'd never won with her though. Not quite. _Still… …_

He reached out and placed his hand on the inside of her thigh, right above the knee.

"You are such a cocktease, chere," he murmured huskily up at her.

"Gawd," she drawled back voluptuously. "I do hope so. The past few weeks I've been doin' nothin' but gettin' worked up on the memory of you and now…"

The words were cut off on a gasp as he slid his hand all the way up the length of her thigh, right up to the line of her panties.

"Now there's a thought," he said thickly. "You, gettin' worked up on memories of _me_. Care to elaborate?"

"Oh, I'm fairly sure your dirty little mind can figure out a few things," she purred; and he laughed softly.

"I can think of _plenty_. Plenty of the kind of mem'ries I wish we'd taken the time t'record, the last time we were together."

He let his thumb wander slightly, watching her eyelids flutter and her lips part and her body shudder pleasurably and… …

"Have you decided what you want, Miss—Oh! I'm sorry!"

A fitting assistant had entered, to her credit immediately cottoning onto what was going on. Anna jerked backwards, but didn't back away – although he was amused to see she was blushing furiously.

"Um… Yeah, I think I've found something," she said in a voice that was still shaky with desire. He tried not to smile and let his hand slide back down the inside of her thigh, slow enough to make it clear he wasn't in the least ashamed at being caught red-handed.

"All right," the assistant said quickly, already retreating back from where she'd come from. "I'll just be outside." And she disappeared.

Remy caressed Anna's knee longingly.

"Hm. Smooth," he remarked playfully.

"Shut up," she huffed at him, still flushed from lust and embarrassment.

"You started it. Maybe I should join you in that cubicle and we can finish it."

The furtive look she darted at the doorway told him she was more than just a little tempted. So he was kind of disappointed when she suddenly backed away, saying firmly:

"I think maybe this dress needs to go back on the rack."

She pushed away and had almost got back to the fitting booth when he called to her.

"Anna?"

"What?"

"You're gettin' that dress."

She swivelled round, hand on hip, shooting him a look that was like a hunting grade calibre bullet.

"I ain't wearin' this out to a two-bit honky tonk bordello, let alone _La Princesse_."

He laughed.

"Chere, you ain't wearin' dat out in public. Ask de nice lady t'bag it up for you. We find other uses for it. _Private_ ones."

She rolled her eyes at him and snapped the door shut behind her, making an almost-convincing show of complete and utter disdain, one he wasn't taken in by in the least. He settled back into the couch with a smug little grin on his face. If Anna was going to do her darndest to seduce him, then he was more than happy to play the part and be thoroughly seduced.

-oOo-

Here they were, back again. At _La Princesse_ , at the exact same table, under the exact same star-speckled sky. Except this time, he hoped, without the lies and the subterfuge. Without the grinding knowledge that somewhere down the line, either one of them could betray the other… that any trust or quarter given might be a fatal mistake, a matter of life and death.

The last time they'd been here, she'd been a client, a colleague, a mark… a conquest in the making. And he'd been… well. A tool. A means to an end. A potential enemy. Her betrayer.

Now they were here on equal terms, as lovers. At least, he hoped so. He wasn't good at making things 'official', if such a thing existed. Back in London, Lila was the one who'd made those kinds of decisions, 'relationship' decisions. She'd been the one to ask him whether they were 'official' yet; the one to suggest they move in together. The questions had confused him in ways he'd been embarrassed to admit. The last time he'd ever been 'official' with anyone was Belle, and that had been because the circumstances had forced them to either make or break the relationship. Everything in-between Belle and Lila had been casual flings and one-night stands. So he'd let Lila make the decisions for him because he hadn't really known how else to navigate them. It'd felt right at the time… But here and now, with Anna… he realised he hadn't really learned anything from Lila's masterful handling of their relationship at all. He hadn't even been the one to break it off between them, even when he'd clearly known it was over. He'd simply waited for her to say they were done.

He wanted to start something with Anna, but… he realised he wasn't sure how.

She was sitting across from him, just so distractingly, deliciously beautiful right now that the thought of _not_ starting something with her was almost painful to him.

She was dressed in an off-the-shoulder, bottle green satin sheath dress that was elaborately encased in an intricate trelliswork of lace, her hair half up on one side, completely down on the other, café-au-lait curls tumbling down her right shoulder. The colour of the dress brought out the green of her eyes, forcing him to realise that for some reason she hardly ever wore that particular shade.

They'd talked, bantered, flirted hard over the course of their meal, but there was something about her tonight that bothered him. She seemed a little tense, a little self-conscious, a little preoccupied. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he knew it was there, beneath the smiles and the laughter and the come-hither looks. In fact she'd been like this on and off since the very moment they'd reconnected barely 24 hours ago, and… It made him doubly uncomfortable to realise that he didn't know how to broach it with her either.

"What are you thinking?" she suddenly asked him, breaking his train of thought. He shook himself, answered:

"Nothin'." He paused, laughed, and corrected himself, saying: "Actually, that ain't true. I'm thinkin' about you."

"Original," she noted sardonically. "And boring."

"Chere," he answered sincerely. "Thinkin' about you is anythin' but borin'."

"Pfft." She picked up her wineglass. "You know all the lines."

He watched her drink and said helplessly: "You know I know all the lines. That's why I don't bother sayin' them t'you unless they're true."

She set down her glass and smiled cynically.

"Oh, Remy. You and I both know that you spent a helluva lotta time tellin' lies to me the last time we tangoed."

" _Non_ ," he replied calmly. "I spent a lotta time hidin' the truth from you. There's a difference."

She visibly stiffened at the words; and for a few moments she toyed agitatedly with the stem of her wineglass, before raising her eyes to his once more like she was ready to call him out.

"Remy… I don't know how to say this, so I just will." She took in a breath, held his gaze, asked: "Do you… Is there someone else back in England?"

He was genuinely floored by the question. It was the last thing he'd suspected she'd ever ask.

"Well, there _was_ ," he answered honestly. "Until a few weeks ago. You actually timed this pretty good, chere. Any earlier, and things coulda been awkward… …"

He trailed off, seeing the tension almost palpably ooze out of her.

"Okay," she said, almost to herself, clearly relieved. "'Cos I wasn't sure whether you were already seeing someone back in London, and all this was just… y'know…" she waved her hand absently, "…a fling or a hookup or something."

He cocked his head to one side, regarding her questioningly.

"Ya think I woulda asked you to come back to London wit' me if this was just some fling?" he asked quietly. Her eyes met his again; she stopped playing with the wineglass.

"There've been men who asked me to go back with them to whether they came from," she replied soberly. "To play at being their mistress, or their… bit on the side." She pushed a lock of hair back behind her ear, as if the admission made her self-conscious, her gaze suddenly wandering everywhere but in his direction. "I always said no. I was never… _interested_ … in being 'the other woman'. In being a plaything."

Her eyes were on his again, just the little hint of the wildcat back in them again, that unabashed defiance.

"For you though… I would've considered it."

She drank, deeply, quickly.

A stolen memory hit him then.

A memory of her standing next to him, lying there in Raven's medbay, her hands curled around his, and this indescribable _feeling_ flooding her, flooding him, this _love_ – _her_ love. For him. She knew he knew it. She knew it was useless for her to hide it from him, that it put her at a disadvantage. But this confession… it was a kind of tacit acknowledgement. Of just how vulnerable he made her, of the things she'd be willing do for his sake.

The power she'd handed to him in that moment was titillating, intoxicating in the most venal way. He was conscious of what it meant, that it implied some kind of test… And it made him hunger for her all the more.

"Would you?" he asked with studied nonchalance, and she replied immediately, and with a fiery-eyed fierceness:

"Yes."

She was _doing_ things to him right now. He suddenly needed a smoke, bad.

"I meant what I said, this morning," she continued seriously. "About home, about taking it with us. Yesterday, I wasn't sure, but… seeing you again… being with you again… … If someone asked me to let it all go again, to watch you walk away…" She lowered her voice to a threadbare whisper, "I don't think I could do it. I might have ended up regretting it, but I would have gone with you, if you'd asked me to come with you, and there was someone else waiting for you back home."

He was consciously breathing. He was aware of each breath, surging through his lungs.

"I wouldn't have asked you to make that kind of decision… …"

"No?" She laughed almost bitterly. "Tell me you could leave this country now without me."

And there was the leveller. She knew him and his wants, his desires, just as well as he knew hers.

"If there was someone else right now," he replied in a low voice. "There wouldn't be once I got back home. I hope you know that."

She said nothing, just looked at him as if she didn't quite believe him, and yet again it made him wonder about the men who'd come before him. The men she'd had to forget the one she couldn't have back. Cody.

He stood.

"I need a smoke," he said. "Come with?"

They went out onto the balcony, just like they'd done before – standing just outside the light thrown out by the restaurant, two silhouettes standing side by side in the darkness. He lit up a cigarette and she watched him, the movement of his fingers, going through this ritual he'd performed a million times before.

"You want one?" he asked her, seeing the intentness of her gaze.

She shook her head.

"No. You just have… nice hands."

"Oh." He laughed. "For a minute there, I thought you were goin' all Ophelia Sarkissian on me again."

She quirked a half-smile, amused.

"Oh, Lady Sarkissian thought a lot of things about your hands. She found you… delightful."

She settled on the word as if it was the only one that accurately expressed the sentiment. For his part, he didn't much care what Lady Sarkissian or anyone else thought.

"And what do _you_ think?"

She paused, seemingly taken aback by the question.

"I think you're... beautiful," she replied sincerely.

He looked aside, a smile flickering across his lips, uncertain how to meet her earnestness.

"I think you've changed a lot since I last saw you," she added, unprompted. "And I think that kinda scares me, but… I still think you're beautiful. And you still touch me in places I never knew." It was her turn to look aside, frowning as she looked out over the city. "When I left you back in Raven's medbay, I knew that when and if I ever saw you again, you'd be different. _I'd_ be different. That scared me. I guess it still does. But I had to go. I'm... sorry if it hurt you."

"Hey, it's okay." He reached out and brushed a few stray locks of hair tenderly from her shoulder. "We both changed each other. I don't think that'll stop. I hope it won't, anyway."

And she looked up at him with a shy smile.

"I hope it won't either," she whispered; and she swivelled, grabbed the lapels of his jacket, and pulled him down into a kiss.

-oOo-

This time yesterday, he hadn't had a moment to think.

They'd both been so damn greedy for one another, nothing had seemed as important as fitting as closely together as they physically could, in as many ways as humanly possible. It had been some of the best sex of his life; and while the idea of more of the same hadn't in any way cooled yet, there were things she'd said today and things she'd done that made him feel like he should approach her differently.

She had a lot riding on this – that was clear. So did he, but… she'd purposely made herself vulnerable to him. He still didn't really know what had happened to her the last few months, and somehow that seemed important, but it didn't feel right to bring up the subject with her yet. He didn't think she was ready.

So, they'd stood by the door of her hotel room and kissed, deep… slow. They had time. For once, they had it.

"When's our flight?" she'd asked him in a murmur, somewhere between kisses.

"Evenin' after tomorrow," he'd answered, taking the moment to slip the coat off her shoulders. "Why?"

"Hmmm, just tryin' to figure out how much time we have left…"

He dropped his lips to her bare shoulder, laughed huskily.

"Oh, chere… we'll have plenty of time for dis back in London…"

"I'm assumin' you'll haveta work…"

"I'm sure I can fit you inta my busy schedule."

He kissed his way up the line of her neck and behind her ear, making her gasp and fall silent. He'd been itching to get her out of that goddamn dress all evening, and he wasn't going to let anything derail that plan right now, not even cute and sexy banter with her.

"Yeah, but I'm gonna leave ya high and dry in Heathrow, remember?" she persisted, teasing him. He raked his teeth along that same soft spot behind her ear, said gruffly: "Like fuck you are."

"There's a whole world out there," she whispered. "How d'you know the Rogue won't be tempted by it again?"

There was a laugh in her voice that was specially designed to get under his skin – and it was kind of working. With a half-frustrated, half-playful growl, he shoved her up against the door and pushed his body against hers.

"If the Rogue wants convincin', I got ways," he said hotly.

"Uh huh?"

He put his hands on her thighs and slid them slightly under the hemline of her dress.

"Uh huh," he said.

The simple words were loaded, and he dropped slowly to his knees, working the dress up towards her waist as he went down. Black lace. She was wearing black lace underwear, and goddamn, if she wasn't the most mouth-watering thing he'd ever encountered in his sordid life, if he wasn't going to eat up every last delectable inch of her.

He looked up at her, shooting her a wolfish grin, not breaking eye contact as he leaned in a little and warmed her with his breath. Her teeth almost instinctively caught on her lower lip, just as quickly letting it go again when he stopped. Slipping his hands back behind her knees and caressing her there lightly, he moved forward and tasted her through the lace.

Her hips bucked to meet him instinctively, the breath driven from her mouth as though completely unwillingly. Although her palms were pressed against the door, he knew there were things she wanted to do with them, and he tormented her just long enough for them to twitch in his direction… before pulling quickly away.

The sound that left her mouth was pure frustration.

" _Ugh!—And you call me a fucking cocktease you dick!_ " she blasted out all in one breath.

He laughed softly, sexily. He loved winding her up like this. He didn't think there was anyone else who could.

"Oh, I'm jes' primin' you for a very delicious payback for what you pulled back in de boutique, beb."

He raised his eyes to hers again and teased the fancy panties, inch by painful inch, down her long, long legs.

"Seem t'remember you tellin' me we'd get bored of the sex within two weeks," he murmured suggestively. "Y'think we're even close to that yet, hmm?"

"Pfft," she retorted in a surly tone – as if the flush on her cheeks wasn't giving her away. "At the rate we're goin', I give us a week."

He grinned and lifted her right leg up and over his left shoulder.

"Hmm. Then I guess we'll haveta think of new and excitin' ways t'keep this interestin'." He turned his head slightly and kissed that spot inside her thigh that he already knew was one of her erogenous zones. "I'm gon' have fun experimentin'."

He licked that same spot, slow and voluptuous, seeing her glance darken and glaze over.

"Stop talkin' like you don't know we'll have run out of positions by next Tuesday," she muttered almost deliriously as he kissed his way up the inside of her thigh.

"Stop talkin' as if this thing here b'tween us ain't real, and I might consider it," he answered sincerely. "Assumin' what you're sayin' is even the truth." He was right _there_ , and he lingered a moment, added pointedly, "Which it ain't," before ending the conversation the only way he knew it was going to be ended.

It worked. The only protest he got from her was a long, soft moan, the kind that sent his heart racing and his blood boiling. Within seconds her fingers were fisting in at the roots of his hair, her body moving to the rhythm of his tongue, completely unashamed about the fact that he was giving her pleasure and that she wanted more of it. He'd known from the moment he'd laid eyes on her that this woman was fire, but damn… there were definitely times when she proved to him that here was a femme who probably needed to come with her own health and safety hazard warning. Sure, he knew objectively it was the kind of thing most men would find intimidating; but he would've been lying if he'd said he didn't find it anything but all kinds of hot. He was more than willing to spend his time pleasing her if it was what she wanted.

He kissed and licked and sucked her until she was a quivering mess; and he didn't stop until it was over, until he'd wrung every last ounce of orgasm out of her, and she was literally sobbing with pleasure.

"Is the Rogue still tempted t' walk away?" he asked her silkily, as he finally got back to his feet and pressed her up against the door with his body, knowing she'd otherwise collapse like a heap of jello on the floor.

"Ugh," she muttered with disgusted admiration, putting her head in his shoulder and still clinging to him for purchase. "You are too damn good with that insufferable mouth of yours."

"I'll take that as a no," he laughed. "So what you think, huh? Looks like I'm good wit' my hands and my mouth… you figure there's any other part of my body I can use t'convince you t'stay wit' me, beb?"

She lifted her head and glared at him, her cheeks all flushed and her lips all plumped up with that orgasmic afterglow, and _God_ , she was beautiful, in ways that were paradoxically both sublime and profane, dirty and divine. It was impossible, he thought, for him to ever stop wanting her.

She grabbed his head between her hands, pulled him in as close as she could.

"Oh I definitely think," she whispered fervently, "that there's a body part we might've missed."

Having kissed him passionately, she took him by both hands and pulled him impatiently towards the bed. And he – not for the first or last time – was only too happy to follow.

-oOo-


	3. Always Strings Attached

**Disclaimer:** These characters belong to Marvel, and I have nothing to do with Marvel.

 **Rating:** Rated M for sex.

 **Author notes:** There will be one more chapter after this. Please read, review and enjoy.

* * *

 **\- 96 Hours -**

 **Always Strings Attached**

 _It was Raven who'd first taught her how to do those fancy chignons – those intricate knots and tucks and curls and cow-licks that she's never seen Raven wear herself._

 _"Why do I haveta wear my hair like this?" she'd once asked her, and Raven had replied flatly:_

 _"Because men like seeing women with their hair up. They like even more taking it all down."_

 _She'd been young then –_ too _young – but Raven hadn't exactly been lying, and_ this _– the hour-long toilette – has become something of a ritual, something to take her mind off the inevitable._

 _Anna picks up a bobby pin, tucks it into the whorl of hair behind her ear._

 _She stares in the mirror and thinks about how_ he'd _undone her hair once, slow, unhurried, pin by pin, dropping them to the floor until the locks had all unwound themselves and uncoiled round her shoulders._

 _She remembers thinking that there'd hardly been anything half so sexy she'd experienced in all her life._

 _"I still don't know why you're going to all this trouble," Raven is saying from the telescreen at the other end of the hotel room. "You know it's him now. Why make him jump through all these hoops?"_

 _Anna sighs and, having secured the last curl, turns and brushes a hand over the skirt of her velvet cocktail dress. She thinks her palms might actually be sweating._

 _"You_ know _why, Raven," she says tiredly._

 _"Do I?" Raven almost glares at her. "So you can snare him with a pretty dress and all that hair?" She snorts. "Anyone would think you were back on one of those sordid missions Essex used to send you on."_

 _The comment angers her. This has nothing to do with_ that _._

 _"Why do you have to make it sound so fucking cynical?!" she asks angrily._

 _"Because I was the one who taught you how to approach men like him," Raven replies tautly. "Control the scenario, build the water-tight maze – make them run it like the rats they are. Make yourself into a prize so delectable that they won't be able to refuse."_

 _She's more than just piqued now. This_ hurts _._

 _"Is that what you think I'm doing?" she asks her old mentor outright. "That I'm_ seducing _him?"_

 _"No," Raven retorts with a hint of irritation. "I'm just telling you that you don't_ need _to. Haven't you stopped to think for a second that he might_ resent _you for making him run this maze?"_

 _It isn't the reply she's been expecting. She looks up at Raven with a horrible sensation of dismay zigzagging through her._

 _"You didn't see how he was when he woke up after you'd left for Caldecott," Raven continues heatedly. "He wouldn't have cared how he got you back. The only thing he would've wanted was you, as you are. Not…" and she makes a frustrated gesture with her hand, "_ this _."_

 _She's silent. She's believes what Raven is saying… knows that she has little enough love for Remy to make up something like this. But so many things could've changed for him the past 14 months. She knows they have for_ her _._

 _"It wasn't supposed to drag out this long," she admits quietly. "I wasn't planning for it to get to this."_

 _There's a note of contrition, of vulnerability, in her voice, that instantly deflates Raven's ire._

 _"Then why have you let it?" she asks._

 _And she lifts her chin, glares at her with shame and defiance and says:_

 _"Because I'm_ scared!"

 _The confession leaps from her lips and it stuns her almost as much as it does Raven. There is a silence; and a wet pressure is building behind her eyes._

 _"Scared?" Raven asks, as if she couldn't possibly be scared of anything. There certainly wasn't much that had scared her in the past. But she's scared now, and she can't deny it._

 _"Have you seen the way he_ looks _?" she asks helplessly. "Just so…" She works her fingers agitatedly, not wanting to say the words to Raven, but unable to help herself anyway. "Just so damn_ beautiful _?! Confident?! In control?!"_

 _Raven stares at her like she's talking nonsense, and she's moved to continue, saying:_

 _"He's obviously moved on, Raven. There's every possibility he's found someone else, and I—"_

 _She halts, and:_

 _"You're scared of rejection?" Raven interjects, and she can't speak – she nods fiercely._

 _"Well, in that case," Raven says coolly, "you should've_ asked _me to keep a track on him. Or Katherine – did you think of asking her to find out these things for you?"_

 _"No – no!" she fires back, turning aside and pacing the spot frantically. "That was never an option! It's his_ life _!"_

 _"That's never stopped you before—"_

 _"Don't make out to me that he isn't any different from anyone else, Raven!" she seethes back. "You_ know _what this – he – means to me! And I… I just need to work up the courage. I just need to work up the courage to see him again." She stops pacing, adding in a despairing tone: "What else do you think_ this _is, Raven?" She indicates to herself, all done up to be the most beautiful and tantalising morsel she knows how to be. "This is the only way I know how to be brave right now!"_

 _She whirls around and goes back to the mirror, literally vibrating with pent-up nerves._

 _"Just let her do it," Katherine Pryde speaks up from her seat in the corner of the room. "She needs to do it this way."_

 _There's silence a moment, and she almost feels Raven's eyes boring into her back._

 _"All right," the older woman finally speaks. She hesitates, and Anna knows she wants to say more, but she doesn't. "Good luck then, Anna," she says instead, and the vidcall ends._

 _As soon as she's gone it's like a balloon deflating. The tension begins to bleed out of her – but the doubt doesn't._

 _Kitty gets up from her seat and slowly crosses the room towards her, puts a hand on her shoulder._

 _"You'll be fine," she says._

 _Will she? She doesn't know anymore. It's impossible to her that he can't have somebody else right now. It's impossible to her that she can't be anything more than just this glorious ghost from his past made flesh._

 _Now she looks up at her reflection and sees what she's made herself into. A woman he'll want when he sees. A woman he won't be able to say no to. Even if it's only for just a few stolen hours of pleasure. Just like it always was._

 _"You're going to be fine," Kitty says again, giving her a little shake of the shoulders. "You're going to do it, and you're going to be fine. You have nothing to lose right now."_

 _Doesn't she? In a way, no – they'd never been together, never had a life together to fight for._

 _But there's the future they_ could _have._

 _And the thought of_ that _… … God, the last time she'd even thought about futures had been with Cody, and look how_ that _had turned out._

 _"You're right," she says quietly. "The worst he can do is just turn me away. And then I'll just go back to how I've always been."_

 _"And what's that?" Kitty asks seriously, and she lowers her head, answers:_

 _"Running. From intimacy. From all the hurt and pain being close to someone can give you. But I don't want to be alone," she finishes decidedly. "I don't want to be alone anymore. I guess that's why I'm so afraid."_

 _But there are things she'll take. His eyes on her. His name on her lips. If that's all she can get, then that's what she'll take. When all is said and done, it'll have to be enough._

-oOo-

"Mmmm, that feels soooooo damn good," Anna murmured in a tone that could only be described as all-out bliss.

"Chere," Remy replied lazily. "I do hope you know how much I love it when I hear you moan like that."

She opened an eye and glared at him, lying there on the massage table next to hers like butter wouldn't melt.

"I bet y'do," she drawled back at him, too preoccupied to snipe much. "I bet the only reason you suggested this at all was to play voyeur."

"Non," he threw back, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "The only reason I took you here was because I couldn't stand hearin' you whine about all the aches and pains you're suff'rin on account of all the gymnastics we been doin' the past couple of days."

"Oh my God, shut up," she groaned, half caught between blushing and laughter. The masseuse working on him sure looked like she was enjoying it, and she was pretty sure her own masseuse was finding it all very amusing too. "I got hickeys in places I didn't even know you could get 'em," she added after a moment, refusing to be embarrassed. "And I swear I've pulled a ton of muscles it shouldn't be possible to pull. So thanks for that, Cajun."

"Hoo!" he crowed with mock surprise. "An' you jes' went and blew our gymnastics cover story, chere. We gonna be a scandal by the time lunch comes round."

"Remy LeBeau," she retorted witheringly, "I can guarantee you that the maids have already made us into a scandal. So you can quit pretendin' t'be coy about it."

"A'right," he said with a small laugh. For the next few minutes he was quiet, and she happily fell into the relaxing cadence of the massage. Earlier on that morning they'd spent time in the hot tub, which had backfired horribly because it had descended into spine-tingling sex – _again_. And pleasant while _that_ had been, she couldn't deny that her body had begun to protest a bit at all insane acrobatics. _This_ right here – with enough prying eyes around to prevent Remy from getting too frisky – was perfect.

"So," he finally spoke up again in that languid drawl she loved so. "Tell me 'bout Katherine."

She opened her eyes again and saw him looking at her, chin propped up on his arms.

"Katherine?"

"Y'know. Your friend. The one who so skilfully brought us back together."

"Oh." She'd got so used to calling her 'Kitty' the past few months that she'd forgotten what her real name was. At least, she supposed, it was better than the moniker she'd always known her by back when they'd worked for Essex – 'Weapon Six'. "We used to work for the same company," she explained as nonchalantly as she could. "You know… the place I used to work for?"

"Uh huh." He looked suitably disinterested at this subtle reference to Weapon X – but then he was good at his pokerface – it didn't matter how outrageous the lie or the half-truth. She happened to have first-hand knowledge of how good he was at it, much to her chagrin.

"Well, anyway," she continued flippantly. "We bumped into each other again when I got back to NY. She'd started working for Raven while I was away down South."

He looked amused.

"Cute, that you can still be friends again after all this time," he observed.

"Oh, don't get me wrong – we weren't ever friends back in the day," she corrected him quickly. "Let's just say we were more like… teammates. I've learned more about her the past two months than I ever did in all the years I was working with her."

She fell silent, ruminating on it. It was a lie, of course. There was plenty she knew about Kitty, intimate personal details that she had 'faced with on the mem-chips she had once stolen from Essex. Kitty didn't know that – but Remy did. He'd seen those mem-chips in her stash, way back when. Him remembering Kitty's chip was pretty much the entire reason he was here right now, after all.

"So yeah," she finished quietly. "I guess you can say we're closer now than we ever were."

 _That_ wasn't a lie – not that it said much. Working for Weapon X had never entertained friendships, or relationships of any kind for that matter. It bothered her that she'd never had a real friend in her entire life. The first person she'd considered a friend had been Cody, but he'd quickly developed into something else.

Truth be told, she felt a little jealous of Kitty. After Weapon X had folded, she'd gone on and made a success of her life – her _normal_ life – whereas Anna... …

Well, that was in the past. She was trying to change that now, and she was grateful to Kitty for being willing to help her do that.

"Well, she sure seems possessive of you now," Remy said with an amused smile. "You should see the texts she's been sendin' me. Considerin' her previous line of work, I wouldn't be surprised if she tore me a new one if she learned I'd done you wrong."

He said it like it was a joke; but only she knew just how serious he'd meant it.

"Oh, don't worry," Anna answered wryly. "Raven's making sure she keeps all her old 'skills' honed."

He propped his head up in his hand and regarded her for a lingering moment, like he had a whole host of interesting questions he suddenly wanted to ask her. After few beats he opted for the least controversial one, considering their current company.

"And how's Raven?"

She grunted.

"Raven's Raven," she replied as diplomatically as she could. "Still thinks she's my mother. I can't lie – being away from her all those months was a very good thing. Especially since I have a hard time forgiving her for that fucking stunt she pulled back when—well, you know when. I mean, I know I have a lot to thank her for it, but… what she did _hurt_."

She swallowed hard, remembering the way Raven had betrayed her to Essex. Of course, it had been a feint to get Anna the gene therapy that would cure her of her near-acute mem-intoxication, but neither Anna or Remy had known that at the time. For a while, Raven's betrayal had been very real indeed – and a ruse that could've cost both their lives. The bullets Remy had taken because of it, the _memory_ of those shots – they _still_ sometimes haunted Anna's dreams.

"Hey." He was reaching out into the gap between them, putting his hand out to her. "I know. I coulda fuckin' killed her for what she did too. The gamble was insane – but it paid off. And I say dat as someone who makes a livin' from insane gambits."

"I know," she sighed, reaching out to take his hand. "I am thankful for _that_. But there's a lot she's done to me in the past that she's never said sorry for. And that almost hurts even more."

They were only close enough to link the tips of their fingers; but it was comforting and it was loving, and she held on for what felt like a luxuriously long time before letting go.

"I need to go see her," she murmured morosely, half to herself. "Pick up some stuff for London…"

"You want me to go with you?" he asked; and she shook her head quickly.

"No… no. It's fine. No offence, but having you there would probably make things worse. And I don't exactly need a chaperone. It's just… …"

"Anna, she has t'know this is comin'," he spoke up calmly. "If I was a bettin' man, I'd say she's even expectin' it."

She slid a sideways look at him, knowing full well that if there was anything he was, it was a gambling man.

"Yeah," she answered. "You're right."

She fell silent, absently watching the sweep of the masseuse's hands on his body, mentally struggling with a feeling she'd never really encountered before. It wasn't jealousy – she'd spent enough of her life sharing both herself and other men to be too particular about exclusiveness, but… What she was feeling right now certainly included a level of possessiveness she'd never really had to experience before. It was… pleasant. To know she alone had this beautiful thing that so many others would want.

And goddamn, she was still absolutely _relishing_ the fact that there was no one else waiting for him back home. The idea that she could have him _all to herself_ was making her stomach flutter with anticipation.

In a couple of days, they'd both be doing exactly what they'd promised what seemed like a lifetime ago – travelling on a first-class flight to London Heathrow. And no one – absolutely _no one_ – was going to take that away from her.

-oOo-

The opulent splendour of the Worthington seemed a million miles away from the dank, drab streets that Raven had made her cover for so many years; a place that Anna, too, had called home at various times during her helter-skelter life.

The cab came to halt outside that decrepit old chop shop, and Anna stepped out onto the sidewalk, feeling more than just a little out of place in her heels and her skin-tight pants. It was night-time, and hers was the kind of look that invited all sorts of trouble in this neighbourhood; but she'd come here partly on a whim after an evening out dining and drinking at New York's most exclusive hotspots with Remy, and she hadn't much thought about practicalities.

Their flight left tomorrow evening, and she wanted to get this over and done with. If she left it any longer she'd go mad.

Remy had surreptitiously squeezed her hand as he'd seen her into the taxi, said, "Call me if ya need me. But I know you won't," before shutting the door and watching her from the sidewalk as she'd left.

There'd been this feeling inside her... The desperate feeling that if she let him out of her sight, she'd never see him again. It almost trumped the thin thread of anxiety she felt thinking about Raven's inevitable reaction to all of this.

 _He ain't gonna walk_ , she assured herself; but the insecurity she'd first learned to feel in his absence was now ingrained in a way that was frighteningly visceral, and she couldn't shake it.

She roused herself and headed round the back of the crumbling storefronts to Raven's hideout, earning only a single wolf whistle on the way. It was a good sign, and she went right up to the old red door and knocked.

 _Clunk_.

That same old sliding window in the door shot open; those same blue eyes materialised in the gap; and as usual, she didn't bother saying a thing. The window shuttered up again and the door clanked open.

"Hey, St. John," she greeted him, stepping inside.

"Hey."

She heard him close the door behind her, felt his eyes on her body. It made her feel… weird. She'd practically watched St. John grow up, and of course he was a man now, but…

"Is Raven in?" she asked flippantly over her shoulder.

"Umm… Nope. Think she went out to get dinner or something. She should be back soon."

Well, it was a kind of blessing. If she worked quick enough, she might not even need to see her at all.

"Why?" he asked, just as she'd got to the stairs leading down to the basement. She stopped and turned back to him, smiling sweetly.

"Nothing. Just picking up a few things."

"Oh? You stayin' out again?" She stared at him, and he cleared his throat suddenly, adding: "'Cos, like, we ain't see ya the past couple days and…"

He trailed off, clearly embarrassed.

"Oh!" she grinned. "I've been on vacation the pass couple of days. Didn't Raven tell you?" He shook his head no, and she continued blithely: "I'm just getting myself reacquainted with New York City. The sights, the sounds… the food and the wine… the hot men and the even hotter sex…"

She didn't wait to see his reaction, hurrying down the stairs and over to the room that Raven always kept for her, feeling a little bad for teasing him – but probably not bad enough.

She threw open the door and stepped inside.

The lights flickered on above her, casting into cold relief the dull, dank box of a room that had been hers for an age. Grey walls and thin, slatted windows at street height, right up near the ceiling. She'd never thought of this as _home_ – just as a stopover on many a journey she had taken. A refuge to lick her wounds, take stock, and rest a little before moving on again.

It was quiet here. _So quiet_.

With a gentle touch she slid the door shut and looked at the drab décor, the unlived-in sparseness of it all. Right after her year-long trip down South, as soon as she'd arrived back in NYC, she'd come back here, this hovel of a home, knowing that any amount of upscale apartments or hotel rooms were available to her, but also knowing that she didn't want to be alone, and, moreover, that _Raven knew how to find people._ And that the person she'd wanted found was going to take some hard searching. She'd needed to be close to Raven, directing her, watching her. She'd needed to know Raven wasn't going to do anything but her goddamn best trying to find Remy.

Now that he _was_ found, this room seemed strikingly irrelevant.

Anna took in a shaky breath and went over to her carryall, left unceremoniously opened on the bed. There was still some underwear in the bottom; and, in a corner, a folded-up rectangle of paper.

She took it out, unfolded it.

It was the lop-sided, child-like drawing of a sunflower in a field of corn, executed in vivid primary colours with Magic Markers. The drawing ten or eleven-year-old Anna-Marie Raven had made before being ripped away by social services; the drawing that had been kept all those years by the blind old lady who would've adopted her, and which she had returned to her only a couple of months before.

She traced her fingers over the black outlines and the lurid colours, feeling something snag on her heart and at her throat. She still wasn't used to crying, so she quickly folded the paper up again, and stowed it away in a side pocket. Afterwards the lump was still in her throat, so she busied herself taking the few belongings she had from her drawers and packing them back into the carryall.

She was so immersed in her thoughts that she barely noticed the soft knock at the door, the sound of Raven finally making her entrance.

"Leaving already?" she asked gently.

There was a _lot_ Anna had been expecting from this moment, but not _this_ – her softness. She glanced back over her shoulder slightly, seeing Raven in the open doorway, that same, old inscrutable expression on her face.

"Yeah," she simply answered.

There was a silence – not the prickly kind she had come to expect, but something else. A little awkward, a little sad.

After a moment she heard Raven slide the door shut fully behind her.

"So," she began quietly. "When's your flight?"

"Tomorrow evening."

"And the return flight?"

"It's an open ticket."

More silence, thick with her own guilt.

"I see," Raven said.

There was nothing left in the drawer, and Anna straightened, turned. Raven was sitting on the bed, looking up at her. It was a passive position from someone Anna knew loved to physically dominate a setting. It spoke volumes – yet somehow, she couldn't trust what it entailed.

"Do you?" she asked.

"Of course, I do." Raven's expression was calm, open. "You fought for this, Anna. You went to the Empharma building that day wanting this. For a whole slew of reasons, you didn't get it then – but you can get it now, and I don't blame you for going."

The words were said so neutrally, but there was an undercurrent of something else that she read as disdain.

"I just want to see if this works out, Raven," she said quietly – and that's when her old mentor finally levelled that cold, sardonic smile.

"No, Anna. I don't think you've thought that far enough ahead. I think all you want right now is to be with him. And I don't blame you for that either." Her smile faded, and she continued soberly: "Just know that you have a home here if you ever change your mind about where you want to be."

There was an implication to the words that Anna read loud and clear – something that said that that was exactly what Raven expected to happen. That within a few weeks Anna would change her mind and be back, ready to move onto the bigger and better things that Raven always seemed to think she should be doing.

She bit back on a suddenly flare of anger at the insinuation, walking over to the carryall and placing the clothing neatly inside.

"Why do you hate Remy?" she asked quietly.

"I don't hate Remy," came the unruffled reply.

Anna sniffed disbelievingly.

"Really? Coulda fooled me…"

She moved back to the dresser, agitatedly picking up a few knick-knacks she'd left there.

"I don't," Raven insisted in that same level tone.

"Then what is it about him that bothers you so much?" she shot out from between grit teeth. There was a pause, a silence that she could tell Raven was struggling not to fill, before she said:

"He's beneath you."

She really wanted it. She _really_ wanted Raven to just say she was jealous, leave it at that.

" _Beneath_ me?" She swung round, marched back to the bed, and threw everything, higgledy-piggledy, into the bag. "He's one of _us_! And even if he wasn't, who _isn't_ beneath me, Raven?! Tell me! _Who_?! Someone like _you_?!"

She'd been _so_ adamant not to lose it on this trip that it irked her she was doing it anyway, but… Raven sure as hell knew how to press her buttons, and she was doing it now and then some.

"Someone who will never disappoint you, Anna."

Anna paused, her gaze snapping to Raven's. She was so calm, so composed, it was maddening to her.

"Pffft! I don't think such a person exists. But what makes you think Remy is likely to disappoint me anymore than—"

"Have you seen what he does?" Raven cut across her. "He's nothing more than a common thief. Stealing silly little things for silly little people. And you…"

"And me _what_? _What_ , Raven! Me, stealing silly little people's _lives_? How is that any different?"

An almost-smile touched Raven's lips.

"You were made for something with a little more finesse, my dear. I struggle to see how his world could end up satisfying you, in the long term."

She realised she was balling his fists so tight they hurt.

"I wasn't _made_ for anything, except to be some unfeeling monster that didn't give a shit or have a clue about _real_ people's lives!" she raged. "And you know what, Raven – _fuck_ the shit that wanted to make me that way! Fuck it _all_! I _choose_ him! I choose him, goddammit, and he is _every_ damn thing I want and more!"

"Of course," Raven replied, like she was talking to a child.

She'd had it. She couldn't stay here any longer. She grabbed the last of her belongings, dumped them in the bag, and zipped it up violently.

"Anna—"

"Please, Raven. Don't. You've made your feelings clear, and I can't change them. And you can't change _mine_. It's an open ticket; there are no strings attached. If I come back, I come back. If I stay, I stay."

She shouldered the bag and headed for the door.

"Anna," Raven spoke up softly. "I think you know that there are very many strings attached."

She stopped, she turned. Raven was still sitting on the bed in this position of perfect passivity – and still she managed to command _everything_.

She was _fuming_. She didn't dare to say a word.

"When you love somebody," Raven continued calmly, "there are _always_ strings attached. _Always_. You've entangled yourself, Anna. And that isn't wrong. It would be hypocritical of me to say so." She paused, a grim smile touching her face, before she continued: "All I'm telling you is – if you ever need to cut those strings, I'm here for you. Because," her voice lowered to a barely-audible undertone, "I know what it's like to have no one."

Those words doused the fire in Anna's gut like nothing else. Only a stone-cold defiance remained.

"Thanks for the room, Raven," she muttered back firmly, sliding the door open. "I'll message you when I arrive in Heathrow."

And she left.

-oOo-

When she got back, the hotel room was dimmed, quiet.

She stood in the vestibule and peeled off her heels.

"Remy?" she called.

There was no answer, and she moved into the room, dropping her bag and switching on one of the side lamps.

"Remy?" she called again.

She was answered by the bathroom door sliding open, and a very naked Cajun standing in the doorway, only a glass of bubbly in his hand.

"Here, chere," he greeted her with that dirty grin she knew so well. "Ran us a bath. You should join me, b'fore it gets cold."

He was already doing a damn fine job of getting her anger at Raven to dissipate. A playful pout slowly worked its way across her lips.

"Well, you sure know how to get a girl to relax," she crooned back sexily.

He grinned.

"Don't keep me waitin'."

He retreated into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

Anna bit into her lip and shrugged off her jacket excitedly, finding she didn't want to wait. There was only one tonic for curing her particular ailment this evening, and it happened to be called 'Remy LeBeau'.

She hurried straight over to the bathroom.

He was standing by a champagne stand by the bathtub, pouring her a glass.

"Why you still got your clothes on, p'tit?" he asked her.

"Well," she answered deviously. "Maybe I don't need to take my clothes off for what I have in mind."

He turned to her fully, extended the drink to her.

"Oh, _really_ , chere?" he asked, eyebrow raised. She took the glass and sashayed on over, pressing herself against him.

" _Really_ ," she whispered, eating up his mouth greedily. For a few heavenly moments she let herself get lost in the taste and texture of his kiss.

"And how's Raven?" he asked, when they'd backed up a few inches' worth for air.

" _Fine_ ," she replied, in a tone that told him that words had been said, and that she wouldn't tolerate any more questions on the subject. She took a quick swig of champagne and kissed him again, the popping of the bubbles complimenting the languid swirl of their tongues. She _loved_ this. She'd never got such tactile pleasure out of anyone or any _thing_ in her life.

"And you got everythin'?" he asked breathlessly afterwards.

She kissed his collarbone, smiled.

"Hm, yes. Everything that matters."

A kiss to his chest; a mouthful of champagne. She pressed her tongue against the flat of his nipple and licked, long and slow. She was rewarded by a sharp intake of breath, the softest of groans sounding in his throat.

"Hm. I hope you weren't too ornery with your partin' shots, Anna-Marie, knowin' you like I do."

His fingers were lightly caressing the back of her neck, and she chuckled softly into a kiss as she switched up nipples.

"Oh, I was a very, very good girl," she assured him teasingly. "You woulda been proud of me."

"Aw, chere," he bantered back, "y'know I prefer you when you're bein' bad."

"That so?" She leaned back, giving him the eye. "Guess I'll haveta make up for the disappointment then."

She proceeded to kiss her way down his body, taking long, meandering detours she hoped would drive him crazy. There was plenty to distract her – the finely-sculpted musculature of his rangy body; the beautiful economy of his frame; the myriad marks and blemishes that were evidence of the dangers of his profession; the star-shaped scar of the bullet he'd once taken for her… Jesus, she adored this man. Raven was objectively wrong about her ever being left unsatisfied by him.

Finally on her knees, she swept her gaze right up to his and smiled, taking him in her free hand and fondling him luxuriantly. He watched her intently, and despite that piercing intensity, there was a glaze to his eyes that made her shudder sensually under his scrutiny. God, she _loved_ having his eyes on her like this.

With a wicked grin, she took another mouthful of champagne and slowly, deliberately, ran her tongue right up from the root to the tip of him.

He didn't moan, didn't make a sound – but there was a hitch in his breath that said enough.

"That bad enough for ya?" she whispered. "Or you want more?"

He didn't say a word. She figured she'd maybe tied his tongue, which was okay. This time she took her time with the champagne, tonguing him in all his most sinfully sensitive spots before taking him into her mouth.

This time he _did_ make a sound – a pained groan that told her she was doing _exactly_ the right thing. Maybe _too_ much so – he shot an arm out instinctively to steady himself, finding the champagne stand and nearly toppling over when it shifted and almost made him lose his balance.

Anna backed away, laughing heartlessly at his misfortune. Part of the reason she enjoyed the dynamic between them so much was because she could keep him on his toes – sometimes quite literally. Before he could even think of getting offended at her laughter, she'd backed him up against the wall so he had at least _something_ to stop him from falling over when he got suitably distracted by the attack she was intent on launching.

" _Fuck!—that is freezin', femme!_ " he almost yelled when his back hit the cold tiles. She chuckled, running her hands up and down his thighs as his erection bobbed invitingly in front of her face.

"Darling, I'm gonna warm you up again right quick, stop grousing!"

She grabbed him gently and planted a wet kiss right at the base of him. He huffed a breath, shuddering from something that definitely wasn't the cold; and she was a little amused to see how unfocused his movements were as he placed the champagne flute firmly down by the sink. The glass tottered a little before thankfully coming to a rest.

"You want bad, Cajun," she purred up at him, "you're gonna haveta be prepared t'take it."

She took a final mouthful of champagne, set the nearly-empty glass aside quickly, and sucked him right back into her mouth.

"Fuck, Anna, you are _amazin'_ ," he pretty much gasped as she got to work on him, making sure cold tiles were all but forgotten. He palmed her hair and tugged at the roots, his hips moving to the rhythm of her tongue; and she answered by raising her hands and digging the nails into his backside, pulling him in closer. Within seconds he was away, chasing down an orgasm with a roughness that she thought he was entitled to. She'd been the one to run, to leave him in a quandary she figured he wasn't much used to – hanging, for a woman. Whatever he wanted, _however_ he wanted it – she was willing to provide. In all sorts of shameless, dirty ways, if she had to.

She was going to go to London with him and it was going to be glorious. They'd be together in this disgustingly beautiful way _forever_.

 _When you love somebody,_ she heard Raven's voice warn sternly in her head, _there are_ always _strings attached._

Love! What a strange, mystical word it was. Was this love? _Could_ this, right here, have anything to do with love? Because it felt so damn divorced from it, yet conversely so tightly intertwined… and she wanted to prove Raven wrong, yet she couldn't deny that this was exactly what she felt.

 _Love_.

The sudden knowledge of her own vulnerability made her fiercer, going down on him in a way that defied everything her heart professed to be true – sweet, soft, intimate, tender. She sucked him the way she'd always done – as a distraction, a feint, a ruse, from things she had done or had yet to do – except this time the ruse was all on her, a pathetic attempt to deny what frightened her, that she was a slave to this thing between them.

His breathing was rapidly becoming more ragged; his fingers were pulling at her hair with increasingly aimlessness, and she knew he was close. She redoubled her efforts, and was rewarded with the sexiest damn moan rolling up from his throat as she pretty much ripped the orgasm out him and into her mouth. She didn't let up until every drop of him was inside her and he didn't have a thing left to give.

"Bad enough for ya?" she murmured when he was done, giving him one last, lingering lick. His answer was to slip his hands under her arms and practically drag her up into a deliciously hot kiss.

"You, Anna Raven," he muttered, heartfelt, "are a dirty bitch."

He shoved her back a bit with his shoulders, his fingers feverishly untying the black velvet bodice she was wearing, working the knots like he knew _exactly_ what the hell he was doing. And, of course, he damn well did.

"Well," she bantered back, picking up his champagne from the counter and taking a generous sip, "it takes one dirty bitch to know another." She leaned in to kiss him again, a brief one, however, seeing as he was intent on getting her out of her clothes.

"Fo' sure." He got her out of the fancy laces and shoved the bodice off of her. "You and I need to get some cleanin' in, beb."

He unhooked her bra, letting her get down to the business of removing it, while he unzipped her pants.

"Oh, sugar," she crooned as she leaned into him, taking another sip of champagne and shrugging off the bra while she was at it. "I don't think any amount of scrubbing could make either of us any cleaner than we are already."

He half-laughed, impatient, grabbing the waist of her pants and shoving them down her thighs, panties and all.

"Anna-Marie, that depends on where we focus our scrubbin'."

And he made the point by getting a swift stroke in exactly where he knew it would elicit the best response. Her reaction was instinctive, her body arching into and away from him with a gasp, almost getting her to tip the rest of his drink over in the process.

"Uh huh?" he grinned at her, enjoying her reaction. "Yeah?"

She slapped his hand away from between her legs with only slight outrage evident.

"Don't you dare the fuck think you can pay me back for the world's most amazing blowjob!" she shot at him playfully, teetering a little bit as he backed up and got to his knees, roughly shucking the pants down her legs. The bubbles were _definitely_ starting to get to her head.

"Oh, that was so fuckin' amazin', I ain't even gonna try," he retorted cheerfully, heaving her right up into his arms as she screamed with delight. "I'm just gonna give you a nice, relaxing rubdown for your efforts, and you're gonna shut the fuck up and let me do it."

And without another word he stepped into the bath, splashing soapy, scented water everywhere, making her giggle uncontrollably.

"Oh, I'll let you do it, Cajun," she assured him, grabbing at the hairs behind his head and pulling him in closer. "But don't think I'm gonna be quiet about it. If you don't make me moan at least once, I'm gonna consider this _very_ disappointing indeed."

And she kissed him before he could even think of getting a word in edgeways.

-oOo-


	4. The Things We Have Together

**Disclaimer:** These characters belong to Marvel, and I have nothing to do with Marvel.

 **Rating:** Rated M for sex.

 **Author notes:** And that's a wrap! Thanks to everyone who took the time to review - you're the reason I keep going! :) Enjoy this last chapter, and keep an eye out for _Crazy 8's_ , the sequel to _52 Pickup!_ :)

-Ludi x

* * *

 **\- 96 Hours -**

 **The Things We Have Together**

 _"So," Lila says from the breakfast table, as he finally comes out the bathroom on a cloud of scented steam and heads to the kitchen. "Who's Anna?"_

 _He almost stops mid-stride as he gets to the island, covering his sudden discomfit by ducking into the cupboard for a frying pan._

 _"Huh?" he says, feigning absentmindedness because he already knows this is going to be yet another shitty conversation, and he doesn't even_ want _to know how she knows that name._

 _"Anna," she repeats the name, not knowing what it does to him – the way it brings his heart to his mouth and twists up his guts. "You called me that last night. Right before you blew your goddamn nuts out."_

 _He hides behind the cupboard door a bit longer, rattling around like he can't find what he's looking for. Fuck._ Fuck _. He'd called her Anna? No wonder she hadn't wanted to snuggle after sex. No wonder she'd slapped him away and turned her back on him. Jesus. Okay, so… he'd been thinking of her kind of a_ lot _the past couple of days, but he'd been pretty careful about compartmentalising his outer life and his private fantasies – right?_

 _"So," Lila is continuing. "Who is she?"_

 _He grabs the pan and shuts the cupboard door, his heart beating fast._

 _"Ummm… Anna. Lemme think."_

 _He pretends to do just that as he goes to the stove and lights it up._

 _"Don't be an arse, Remy," Lila glowers at him. "You know who she is."_

 _"What?" He lifts his hands at her in a perfect facsimile of innocence. "It ain't like I was Mr. One-Gal-Guy before I came here and you reformed me. But yeah," he puts his hands down, and palms the nearby platter of butter, "now that I think about it, there_ was _an Anna. She was a maybe, sorta, kinda ex. Hadn't even thought about her since I left the States."_

 _The lies patter easily off his tongue as he scoops a dollop of butter into the pan and slides it round the pan. He's_ so _damn used to lying, and she knows it. A part of her already knows that Anna's been creeping stealthily, steadily, into his mind the past few weeks or so; that he hasn't been able to hold the memory of her at bay anymore. That last night, when she'd been out playing a gig, he'd lain there and thought of her, had fucking jerked off to her because he couldn't pretend anymore that he didn't want her more than he wanted anyone or anything else in that moment._

 _Shit. He still didn't._

 _Lila's calm, looking at him over her breakfast like she knows all this and more._

 _"Remy," she levels at him coolly. "If she was just some random ex you hadn't even thought about since leaving the States, you wouldn't have been saying her name while you were coming like the horny bastard you are."_

 _She's angry. More than angry. When she's pissed – really pissed – she gets like this. Icy cold. It almost makes him shudder._

 _"Look," he replies, erring on the side of caution. "I'm sorry. I know what you're thinkin'. That I'm seein' someone else called Anna. But I swear to you, I ain't. I ain't seein' no one but you, Lila." He goes to the fridge and gets out the bacon. When he comes back, she still looks unconvinced._

 _"Really?" she says, eyebrow raised._

 _"Yes," he answers sincerely. "There's no one else. No one."_

 _She_ still _doesn't buy it. And he can't prove it to her. A part of him doesn't even want to. He's sensed for quite a while that this relationship is dying, and while he doesn't want to trash it, not really, he can't be bothered to save it either. It's not because he doesn't care about Lila. It's because he knows_ she's _out there, and he can't help thinking he might be able to start pinning some hopes on her again. That she_ might _finally be ready._

 _"All right," he finally admits, when she doesn't stop giving him that look. "Listen. There was some woman I hooked up with back in NYC. We had some hot fling. For like, a week or so. It was just sex, Lila. I left; and I seriously ain't thought of her since I got here. I ain't talked to her or contacted her or anythin'. I don't have her number, or an email, and I dunno where the fuck she is. And that is the honest-to-God truth, chere."_

 _He puts the bacon into the pan. It's the truth, as far as it goes, but… it can't hide what he doesn't say, not entirely. That he's thought about ways of finding her, contacting her – even if those thoughts have only been fleeting, whimsical._

 _It can't quite hide the thing that he's been too chickenshit to admit to himself – that he'd fallen in-love with her back then, and that he might still be in-love with her right now._

 _"All right," she finally says. "I believe you."_

 _But it had come as no surprise when, a week later, she'd finally done what he hadn't been able to, and ended it between them._

-oOo-

It was a little bit windy by the river, strands of Anna's hair being whipped from yet another intricate up-do.

Remy watched her silently from the café window while he waited for their drinks. Her, leaning over the railings, watching the moving waters, lost in her own little thoughts.

He remembered watching her in almost the exact same place nearly two years ago, gazing at her from afar as she'd sat there reading so nonchalantly from her newspaper, looking so cute and proper after pistol-whipping him into humiliating unconsciousness the night before. Two things had been on his mind that day – that she'd looked too damn fine to get away with pulling the rug out from under him without a suitable punishment; and second, that she'd looked too damn fine for him to pass up the chance of having a taste of her while he was at it.

He'd had a taste of her many a time since then, and he still didn't think he'd savoured everything she had to offer.

"There you go, sir," the barista said, shaking chocolate on top of his coffee. "Anything else?"

"No, thanks," he replied, smiling at her and picking up the drinks. "That's perfect."

He went outside and set the drinks down on their table, before joining her at the railings. When he put an arm round her, it still gave him a thrill that she stepped in closer to him.

"It's okay," he murmured, following her gaze down into the murky depths. "I wonder about it sometimes too."

"What?" she asked softly, puzzled.

"Whether that tracker you threw in here is still somewhere down there, waitin' to be reunited with me."

The comment had her laughing out loud.

"You're never gonna let me live that down, are you?" she observed wryly.

"Not on principle, no," he answered smoothly. "Not until I have somethin' expensive of yours I can land in the drink."

"Well," she teased back, surreptitiously squeezing his butt, "I do have an _extremely_ expensive pair of silk panties on right now. But I'm guessin' that ain't the kind of thing you're talkin' about."

"Hm." He flashed his most devilish smile at her. "I'm sure it's an idea I can manage to fit my head around. Although I'd prefer it if your underwear didn't land in places they ain't never gon' be seen again. 'Cos you look so damn fine in those things, I wouldn't mind seein' you in them again and again and again." He pressed a quick kiss to her lips, added: "When I ain't seein' you outta them, o'course," before getting in a longer, harder kiss.

When they were done, he smacked her ass affectionately and pulled away, taking her hand and leading her back to the table. He really didn't want their drinks to get cold.

"So what were you thinkin'?" he asked, when they'd both taken their seats and she was busily stirring the froth in her flat white.

"Oh – nothin' much." She lifted the cup, and he watched the way her lips wrapped round the rim, the image making him squirm after the way she'd gone down on him the night before. "Just – the last time I came here, it was right after I got back from Caldecott." She paused, glancing back out to the water. "I was just walking, you know. Thinking about things. And I found myself right back here. Right back to the first morning when I first really _looked_ at you."

She gave a small smile to herself before glancing back at him.

"You wanna know what I really thought about you back then, Remy? I thought you were far too smooth, too cocksure, too conscious of your own damn beauty for me to be anything but unimpressed."

She picked up the biscotto from her saucer, dipped it into her coffee thoughtfully.

"But then I guess something changed… I guess I realised I did the same thing to you. And you weren't afraid to look impressed about it. It… annoyed me at first. But then it did… 'other' things to me."

She put the tip of the biscotto into her mouth and bit into it slowly.

"Well, I s'ppose if there's one thing we're good at doing," he murmured thickly, "it's gettin' under each other's skin."

She swallowed, smiled, licked a few crumbs off of her cherry red lips.

"Ah well, that's just what we do, isn't it, Cajun," she replied, falsely indifferent. "Get under people's skins. So much so that we don't really know what to do when someone else does it to us. Anyway," she continued, before he could say that he knew _exactly_ what to do to women who ended up getting under his skin, "I came right here that day, and… I think that was the moment I wanted you back. For real."

Her gaze was fixed back on the water. It reminded him that, not so long ago either, he'd committed all Belle's memories to the waves. The freedom he'd felt in that moment had liberated him from his past… but it hadn't brought him any closer to the future he'd wanted, the one with her.

He hoped that was different now.

"Well, I sure am glad you figured out you wanted me when you did," he laughed. "Cos any earlier, and I woulda been unavailable, and any later, and I wouldn't'a trusted myself not to go out lookin' for you m'self."

The statement got the full force of her attention back on him.

"Then I'm glad things happened the way they did," she said, a little awkwardly with the show of honesty. "I… thought about you a lot while I was down in Caldecott, but mostly in ways that hurt a lot." She looked down at her cup. "I don't think I was ready to see you again until that moment."

She wrapped her hands around the cup, but didn't lift it. Whatever she was thinking of seemed to pain her. He had questions he wanted to ask about Caldecott; but he figured they could wait.

"So," she spoke up, with sudden and forced disinterest. "This woman you were with back in London… what was her name?"

He tried not to be amused by this sudden turn of conversation. It made him wonder just how much this had been playing on her mind. He picked up the spoon from his saucer and stirred his coffee with a shrug.

"Her name was Lila." He wasn't sure how much he wanted to elaborate – he'd barely thought about her since getting here, and he was absolutely fine with that. "She was a singer in some band," he finished.

"Oh," she replied, as if to say _is that it?_ "And how long were you together for?"

He shrugged again.

"About a year."

"Oh. A year."

She raised the cup to her lips and drank. She didn't look jealous – of course she had no damn cause to be – but he sensed curiosity. Maybe because a year seemed a long time to her – it did to him, looking back on it. To be committed to someone for that long was certainly not his usual modus operandi. But at the time he'd found Lila hot, and she'd been more than willing to keep his mind off the 'somebody else' he'd been trying to forget at the time. The sex had been good, and he'd genuinely enjoyed her company. She'd had a great voice, played a mean game of poker, and always given back as good she'd got. But then, as time had gone on, those very same things had begun to grate on him. They'd subconsciously ended up being a very, very pale imitation of Anna herself. He'd only been able to admit it to himself after the fact.

"I met her at some bar she was playing at, literally the first week I landed in London," he found himself explaining. "What can I say? I ended up sleepin' with her that night. The week after, I was out drinkin' at some other bar – and there she was again. After she played her set, we got talkin'. She was fun – nice. I liked her a lot." He shrugged. "Things kinda happened from there."

He smiled, licked the spoon, and held her gaze. The look she was levelling him was like the very same look she'd given him the last time they'd been sitting here. Like she could light a fire with those wild green eyes of hers.

"But then, ya know," he carried on, setting the spoon down and tilting the cup so he could look into its velvety depths, "it got old real quick. I am fuckin' _terrible_ relationship material. The reason why I stuck at it so long, chere, is that I didn't even know how the hell to end it. There's a reason I don't tend t'do the serious stuff, Anna. It's 'cos I don't know how to get out when the shit hits the fan."

"So why did you do it in the first place?" she asked him.

"I dunno."

He shrugged, drank.

"And what do you want… from us?" she quizzed him tentatively.

The question brought feelings welling up inside him that were terrifyingly visceral, the dizzy sensation bringing honesty to his mouth far faster than anything else.

"I want a whole load'a things," he answered helplessly. "But if I ask for them, I'm kinda scared I might jinx us."

He almost winced at this uncharacteristic flirtation with the truth. She, however, didn't even bat an eyelid, looked him straight in the eye and said quietly: "Me too."

Aaaand his phone rang.

"It's okay," she murmured with a faint smile. "Answer it."

And she got up and went back to the water, giving him some space.

He exhaled a pent-up breath and answered the phone.

"Jake," he began, annoyed. "I told ya, I'm on vacation. Can't this wait?"

"Hello to you too, Remy," Jacob Gavin Jr. greeted him sarcastically. "Sorry, but I'm just tryin' to verify your flight details, and you aren't answering your texts. So, I figured I might have better luck if I called you."

 _Bullshit_ , Remy thought. He knew, instinctively, that Jake knew something was up, that he wanted in on it. Remy's suspicious silence had been enough to get his business partner's expansive imagination working overtime, but Remy had been in no mood to have his precious time with Anna interrupted by anyone.

"I'll text you my flight details," he retorted ungraciously. "Stop worryin' about it."

"Oh, great, so I _am_ picking you up tomorrow then?"

"Yes. You are picking me up, Jake. Anythin' more?"

"Yeah, as it happens. I've left a pile of resumes on your desk, because I'm sick of looking at them. So I hope you're refreshed from this dumb vacation of yours, and ready to do some _actual_ work for a change."

"All right, all right!" Remy blasted back, exasperated. "Fine!"

"Okay, well, text me those details and I'll pick you up tomorrow."

"Yes! Goodbye, Jake!" He almost hung up, when he suddenly remembered something. "Wait – before you go – can you check Ms. Pryde's payment went through? It shoulda gone yesterday mornin', but it won't hurt to check."

"Why can't _you_ do it?"

"Because. I told you. I'm on vacation. Goodbye, Jake."

He ended the call and switched his phone to silent.

Anna was still at the railings, leaning on her elbows, pretending not to have heard a thing. He got up, sidling up beside her and slipping his arm back round her waist.

"Work again?" she asked drily.

"Hmph. Jake's a pain in my ass."

"So why's he your business partner?"

"Heh. Don't get me wrong. He's a snarky li'l bastard and seriously cramps my style, but… all in all, we get along pretty well. He was the one who suggested we get inta business. He does the logistics. I do the…"

"Inventory retrieval?"

He laughed, thumbing the cigarette packet out of his jacket.

"Yeah. Exactly." He shook out a cigarette, popped it into his mouth, and felt for his lighter. "So… If you're ever feelin' 'bored' during your visit, you can always help me out lifitin' some shit for some asshole who's payin' a shit ton o'money."

Her eyes narrowed as she watched him light up.

"Sounds like fun," she said sarcastically.

"Ha. Well it ain't Weapon fuckin'-X, dat's for sure. And I'm glad it ain't."

She said nothing, just watched him suck in a drag and blow it out again slowly. Her silence seemed telling.

"Don't tell me," he said, "you miss all'a dat shit."

Her eyelids flickered. She seemed uncertain.

"No. I don't miss it."

"But?"

"But I don't know if there's anything else I'm good at."

She looked away, down into her hands, suddenly ashamed. Sad. The way she'd always used to look. The expression tugged at him, tightened his chest, made him ache for her in ways he hadn't ached in forever.

"You can be anythin' you wanna be, Anna," he murmured, tenderly touching a white forelock and brushing it back from her face. "That's one thing I know about you."

She was still looking into her hands, a bittersweet smile creasing her lips.

"'Anythin' you wanna be'," she echoed softly. "That's what my momma used to say." She lifted her eyes, looking out to the horizon, trying to remember. "' _You're beautiful and clever, Anna-Marie Raven. You can be anyone you wanna be, and don't let a single soul tell you otherwise_ '." She looked over at him, her smile suddenly watery. "I don't think she could ever have imagined that that's _exactly_ what I would turn out to be. _Anyone_. _Everyone._ Every _thing_."

He was silent. It seemed like the perfect time to ask her about the memories she had recovered of her past – but there was a reverence, a sadness to her, that he didn't dare to break.

"There are things – _people_ – in my head that I don't think will ever go away. So many thoughts, emotions… experiences. Things I'll never forget. _Ever_. There's a part of me that will always be 'anybody'. Sometimes… I used to wonder who I really was. I guess I still do."

This at least was something he could comment on.

"I know who you are, chere," he murmured.

"Do you?" she asked, seemingly troubled by the question.

"Yeah," he answered with certainty. "I do."

He didn't qualify it. He couldn't explain who she was – he just knew he knew.

For a few beats she looked at him, serious, questing, before curling her hands into his lapels and drawing him in a little closer.

"Sometimes I'd wonder what your memories were like," she half-whispered, staring intently at his chest. "Not the memories themselves – though there is that. What I mean is, the flavour of your memories, the texture of them."

Her voice was serious but also somehow sensuous, and it made his pulse quicken and his loins twitch.

"Ya know," she continued softly, "how memories have a taste? A scent? How they feel a certain way when you 'face with them?" She flicked an almost dreamy gaze up to his. "I used to imagine how yours felt. Like… lying twisted in silk sheets and wading through molasses… Like the smoothness of chocolate, and the texture of sun-drenched skin… Sometimes the need to know was unbearable and… … I still wonder, sometimes. I've been wondering a lot the past couple of days."

She put her face into his neck, murmured:

"When I 'face with a memory I never forget it. I never forget the flavour of that person and… I used to wish I'd 'faced with your memories. So that, even if I never saw you again, _ever_ , you'd still be a part of me, somehow. _Always_."

Her lips were right there against his jugular, and he felt his blood pulse there, right where her breath warmed his skin. Her words were both titillating and yet… frightening. An admission of the desire to connect and conquer, all rolled into one. Engendering the certainty that if she ever ate him up, she'd never spit him out again. He'd be all hers. _Inside_ her. _Forever._

The thought unnerved him, thrilled him.

She kissed along the stubbled line of his jaw, and he couldn't wait – he snatched up her mouth like if he kissed her hard enough he could swallow her whole, that she'd never leave him either.

"Get a room!" someone hollered from across the piazza.

Now there was an idea – too bad they'd already checked out of the Worthington that afternoon. The rude intrusion was enough to get them to break apart – mere inches, since they weren't quite done with one another yet – and laugh coyly at the moment. He rested his forehead against hers and whispered: "Y'know, there's some really classy place a couple of blocks from here that charges by the hour..."

She pouted cynically up at him, joking:

"Trust you to know all the 'classy' joints round here."

"You know I do. You game? 'Cos you know I'm always ready for you, chere."

She looked like she needed a little convincing, so he kissed her again just to make sure she was on track, bestowing her with the kind of toe-curling kiss that had convinced many lesser women. With her, however, he still wasn't sure whether such seductions would ever be enough.

"All right, Cajun," she said breathlessly when it was over. "I'm game." She pushed away from his chest with both palms, making a little space between them that he immediately ached to bridge. "Just let me finish up something here first."

She turned back to the railings, and suddenly he saw there was a mem-chip in her hand. He knew instinctively what it was – and what she was going to do with it. The memories on that thin sliver of plastic and silicone rose like a tide in his mind – the things that, until now, had kept him going through all their months apart. Something took him, and just as she was about to throw it into the water, he jerked forward, his hand snapping round her wrist, stopping her.

" _Non_."

It was all he could get out, hoarse, urgent. When she looked up at him, it was the first time he saw real anger on her face since he'd got here.

"Why not?" she asked. Her voice was testy; and he struggled with feelings he'd never put into words before.

" _You're_ on there," he tried to explain, knowing it sounded inadequate.

"I know," she said. "And I want... I need to let it go."

He hesitated. He'd stood here 14 months ago with Belle's memories and done the exact same thing, and it had felt so, so right. But Belle had been a dead thing, and...

Anna had already taken his silence as permission. Wrenching her wrist from his grasp, she moved back to the balustrade – and he only just about caught her in time.

"Don't, Anna."

This time she was unmistakeably pissed.

"It ain't your call to make, Remy."

But it was – at least partially.

"It was a gift," he murmured quietly. " _Your_ gift, chere. To me."

Her brow cleared – just a little.

"You gave it back to me, Remy."

He knew, but... …

God, those memories had been so special to him. Didn't she see that?

"You talk about the flavour of mem'ries, Anna," he murmured, his heart caught in his throat. "And yours is on there. Everythin' you were and are. Just... your joy, your pain, your despair, your loneliness... And at the end – your warmth." He felt embarrassed by it – by his tenderness – it was more than warmth he'd felt in that final memory of hers, but he didn't want to say it. He feared what it might mean to do so.

"I don't remember memories, not the way you do," he continued, flushed with the heat of his confession. "I don't store them the way you do, not forever. Wit' time, they fade."

"That's how all memories should be," she whispered; but he shook his head.

"They don't have to be anymore, not wit' the mem-tech."

He was dancing around a fact, a feeling, and she knew it.

"What are you trying to say?" she asked.

He looked down, at his hand on her wrist. He was painfully conscious of how much it hurt to say it. _If you're gone... If I lose you... This is the only way I'll get you back. The only way I'll get back the fact that you ever loved me._

"When a thing is over," she told him, at least partially reading his mind, "it's best to just let it go; to forget it."

She looked so damn certain, when he knew that what she was saying was really nothing more than a platitude. He wanted to tell her that humans aren't meant to let things go. That they can only let things go when there's something meaningful to replace the things they've lost. It was a truth he knew intimately now.

"You don't believe that," he said. "Tell me right now that's what you felt when you lost Cody, and I'll let you toss the thing."

There was a look on her face that, for a half a moment, made him think she would actually push him aside and do exactly that. But she didn't. Slowly, the cloud lifted from her face… and a small, wry smile actually began to touch her lips. She lowered her hand, and, apparently having changed her mind, she pulled open the front pocket of his shirt with a fingernail, and dropped the chip inside.

"What…?" he began, but she gave him a meaningful look and said:

"You obviously still want this."

"No." He took the chip back out of his pocket and held it out to her. "I don't. It's yours. Just… don't throw it, 'kay?" Her expression was quizzical, and he continued: "If I ever need it again… I'll find it."

"You mean you'll steal it?"

"If it comes to it, you know I will," he half-joked, though his mind – his heart – was in another place. He didn't think she realised just what she had given him in recording those memories. Hell – a part of him still hadn't really processed it yet himself.

"All right," she said, suddenly good-natured. She took the chip from him and slipped it into her coat pocket. She put her hand in his and went back to the table, drinking the rest of her coffee in one long, un-lady-like swig. "Now," she declared, turning and planting her hands firmly into the back pockets of his pants, "where's this 'classy place' you were talking about?"

-oOo-

Earlier that morning, while Anna had still been blissfully asleep in the Worthington's king-sized bed, he'd gone back to the place that had once been his home, his prison.

The Empharma building, once so tall and proud and stately, had now been nothing more than a cordoned off building site, alive with the sounds of clanging metal, bulldozers beeping, men hollering. He'd stood on the outside looking in, only a fence between him and the past, him and the thing he'd left behind. Empharma was gone, razed to the ground – something else was being built in its place.

 _Fittin', don't'cha think?_ he'd thought to himself.

Funny – there'd been so much light, now that there was no monolithic tower to cast its shadow over him. He'd never realised before how much of it had been blocked out. He'd stood there and wondered about Essex – wondered whether he'd managed, by some miraculous twist of fate, to escape. Whether all those mem-chips they'd fought so hard for had been left in the rubble for someone else to pick up, or had been pulverised to dust.

He'd found, all in all, that he didn't really care either way.

The feeling had been liberating.

He'd walked away without once looking back; back to Anna, still curled up and sleeping, in bed.

She was sleeping now.

Lightly snoozing for the final few hours before their flight.

He rolled over slightly and brushed the sweat-slickened white locks from her cheek, just content to look at her when he was done.

He'd seen her through the eyes of others before – through the memories of Emma Frost, who'd looked down on her, a barely teenaged girl lying in Weapon X's medbay, with such a violent sense of disdain and – yes – _jealousy_. Emma's feelings had been so visceral; words had bubbled up in her consciousness as she'd looked at her – _ugly, awkward, unattractive little redneck hick!_ – and yet what he saw now was something so completely different – the thing they had made her to be – elegant, sophisticated, graceful, powerful, clever. Beautiful – but that was something they could never have made her to be. She'd always been that – ungainly, perhaps, as a child – but never the ugly thing Dr. Frost had imagined her to be. She'd only ever been like any other lost, neglected kid. And Dr. Frost's disgust… it couldn't colour what he felt for her now. The admiration, attraction, he'd always felt for her, that had deepened into something so much stronger.

 _Love_.

He was okay with saying it now. He was okay with admitting that truth. The last couple of days had made him unafraid. It seemed impossible to him that this could ever end.

It was like she could hear his thoughts. As soon as they'd passed his mind, she began to wake up, her eyes fluttering open and fixing him dreamily.

"Mmm, how long was I out?" she asked him in that sexy, just-woken-up drawl he loved so much.

"About an hour," he replied, glancing over her shoulder at the clock on the nightstand. "You wanna shower, chere, you better do it now. We'll need t'leave for the airport soon."

"Mmmmmm." She gave a satisfied purr and snuggled in closer against his naked body. "I'm sure we can afford to be fashionably late. We _are_ flying first class after all. And if not… then I'm sure you and I can charm another couple of tickets outta the powers that be, between the two of us."

She slipped a hand between them, wrapping a fist round him and stroking him languidly.

"You're insatiable, y'know that, chere?" he rumbled, half-aroused, half-amused. Her answer was a wicked grin, as she worked his body with growing intent.

"Like I said," she whispered, "I've been workin' myself up on the memory of you these past few months, and now that you're here… …"

She pleasured him a few moments before, before rolling him onto his back and straddling him all in one movement. A shift, a wiggle of her ass; and suddenly he was sliding right up deep inside of her, as far as he could go.

She pressed her hands into his chest and moved her hips _just so_ , making him suck in a breath and exhale a strangled moan. She felt _so_ good. So damn _good_.

"So what you wan' do when we get to London, hm, chere?" he asked her, digging his fingers into her backside for purchase as he effortlessly matched her pace.

"Oh, I don't know," she murmured back languorously, her accent drifting in and out of its native state. "I wanna try anythin' and everythin' with you. I'm sure you'll think of somethin' to keep me occupied…"

"Maybe you're the one," he said, moving a hand to cup her breast as she began to work herself harder against him, "who'll be keepin' _me_ occupied."

She laughed, the sound bubbling up from her throat, deep and rich.

"Remy, sugar… For every move I make, ya somehow manage to turn it right back round on me…"

He couldn't deny that one. And just to make the point he rolled her right over onto her back, sinking himself into her so deep that she cried out loud with pleasure.

"And vice versa…" he ground out roughly, hovering _right there_ over her, letting her _feel_ him, _all_ of him…

"And vice versa…" she agreed, snaking her legs around him and impelling him deeper. Until this point he hadn't thought he could get any further inside her than he had already, but _God_ … …

The breath was locked up so tight inside his chest that he was literally seeing stars; and for a little moment, he thought he'd blacked out, until her fingernails dug into his shoulder blades and the pain brought him to. She was whimpering, like he was hurting her, like he was pleasing her, so damn sexy it made his heart swell and the breath burst from his lungs.

And her legs were winding tighter and tighter around him, and fuck, if he went any deeper he didn't think he'd get out…

He leaned in over her, meeting her eyes, that steely green gaze that had snared him so effortlessly the first time he'd seen them, and…

"God, I love you," he found himself saying, his heart crashing in his chest… and she raised her lips to his, kissing him once, twice, briefly but passionately, whispering:

"I love you too…"

And there they were.

The words he'd been waiting so damn long to hear, without even knowing it.

He kissed her once more, with all the feeling he'd once buried deep. Years and years of aimless wandering and he'd finally come home. He'd found his home in her, the woman he'd collided so unceremoniously with, and who had, somehow, never really walked away.

-oOo-

The first-class airport lounge was bathed in a soft, golden light, the atmosphere gloriously tranquil, alive with the subtle scent of lilies and the susurrating sound of running water.

Remy sat on the cream leather couch, his gaze drawn across the marble floor to Anna, standing by the ceiling-length windows, talking animatedly into her cell phone. He could tell, from the exuberance of her gestures and the smile on her face, that she was talking to Katherine. Dieu, she looked so damn beautiful, framed by the vast expanse of black on the other side of the glass; like some ethereal goddess.

He lifted the cigarette to his lips and grinned smugly to himself.

This fucking gorgeous woman was his, all his, and it made him insanely happy. He reckoned he had it made right now. How many other men could say their woman was as easy on the eyes, amazing in the sack, witty and intelligent and great to talk to, and just such a darn perfect match all-round? He didn't think there were many.

Her call evidently finished, Anna shut off her phone and walked back over to him, her stride confident, her perfectly curled hair bouncing to the rhythm of her movements. He tilted his head and smiled wryly at her approach. She looked happy – radiant. He hoped it was because of him.

"Oh my _Gawd_!" she exclaimed as she rejoined him, dropping down into the space next him – so damn close it made his heart sing – and slinging an arm easily over his shoulders. "That gal is nothin' but trouble!"

He blew smoke aside and laughed amusingly at her.

"What? She still askin' for details of the incredible time we've spent boning each other the past couple of days?"

Anna hadn't admitted to him as such that that was what Katherine had been up to, but he'd known it was what the bulk of their conversations had been about. He knew it could hardly be about anything else.

"Hmph." She looked away, flushing slightly – all the way from her cheeks to her breasts, peeking so perkily from the front of her vanilla yellow chiffon blouse. "She _may_ have been."

"And what did you tell her, _ma chere_?" he asked, wanting to know. She pouted at him, merely to cover a smile, twisted closer into him, and ran her hand up and over the inside of his knee.

"I told her to mind her own darn business," she replied peevishly.

"What?" He pretended to look disappointed. "Ya mean you didn't tell her how fuckin' amazin' I am at goin' down on you, chere? 'Cos I know how much you _love_ it when I do…"

She leaned in and bit his lip, just to shut him up, only to end up sucking it into her mouth and kissing him in the end anyway.

" _Some_ of us don't want our sex lives gettin' out to all and sundry," she reprimanded him silkily when they were done, just a hair's breadth away from another kiss. For a split second he thought she'd make good on another one; but instead she turned away from him, declaring loudly, "Now where the hell is that perfume you got me?"

He watched her rummaging through the pile of bags around her, quirking an eyebrow at her sudden interest in something other than him.

"Which one, _mon amour?_ " he asked her lazily, taking another drag. He'd been quite happy to lavish her with all sorts of luxurious goodies from duty-free – anything she'd even so much as taken a vague interest in, he'd bought for her. It was silly, and she'd told him off for it, but he wanted to please her. Appeasing her shockingly expensive tastes seemed too obvious a way to pass up – even if he knew Jake would tear him a new one for purchasing nearly everything on the company account.

He was waiting – just so darn gleefully waiting – for Jake to work everything out. For him to figure out that he'd found Anna again, after all this time.

Because he knew he'd talked to Jake about her once, the night he'd broken up with Lila. Jake had taken him to the nearest bar, and he'd got completely wasted. The morning after, he hadn't remembered much in the haze of a hangover he'd subsequently suffered, but… he'd known he'd talked about her. Possibly a _lot_.

 _Jake's gonna love her, he's gonna LOVE HER,_ he thought giddily to himself, because he really couldn't see how anyone _couldn't._

"This is it!" Anna exclaimed, having rummaged through the sea of bags for several seconds and finally found what she was looking for. She turned to him, a bright pink bottle in her hand, a triumphant look on her face. "This is the one I _actually_ wanted!"

"You mean you didn't want the other ones?" he asked, but she appeared not to have heard him, opening up the stopper and spraying a little on the inside of her wrist. She lifted her hand to let him have a whiff. "Whaddaya think?"

Her voice was soft and silvery, seductive. She wanted to give him every chance to admire her, to drown his senses in her, and… he was only too happy to oblige. Stubbing out his cigarette on the nearby ashtray, he grasped her forearm gently, drew her wrist closer. Her skin smelled of exotic fruit and flowers, like something he could eat up.

"You smell delicious," he murmured, and he pressed his lips against her wrist and kissed her slowly, his tongue brushing against the scar there.

The smile dropped from her face; but she didn't move her arm away. Instead she watched him as he ran his tongue across the line of the scar, like he could lick it all away. He couldn't help it. There were things he wanted to take from her – the pain, the suffering, the hurts – all the memories that she'd given him and that he was powerless to save her from.

When he was done he kissed her wrist, put her hand back in her lap. For a long, lingering moment they sat there, fingers curled together, her expression suddenly sombre, eyes on his like she wanted to say something and—

" _The 10:30 flight to London Heathrow is now ready to board from Gate 30,_ " the dulcet tones of a female employee sounded over the intercom, breaking the moment.

Anna took her hand back, suddenly all smiles again.

"That'll be us, darlin'," she said, in an endearing tone of both shyness and exuberance. She got to her feet and snatched at some of the bags, then her case – it was small, light, compact.

 _Y'know,_ she'd told him, when she'd thrown everything she'd owned into that small little case. _This is how I've always travelled. You jettison the old, bring along only what you need… and wherever you land, you start anew_.

It was the way he'd always travelled too. But suddenly it seemed so lonely, so forlorn. What he wanted now – in this present where things were so very different, so full of hope – was more of the things that they could have _together_.

He picked up what was left of their purchases and followed her towards the glittering green mesh of the neural scanner. She looked back at him with a smile; and he caught up, leaning in to kiss her as they walked on through, two fake names on two fake passports – _Robert Lord_ and _Marie D'Ancanto_ – off on yet another whirlwind trip.

Remy LeBeau and Anna Raven, starting a new life, together.

-END-


End file.
